


No strings attached

by littlebirdfalling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jehan, Other, Trans Character, Trans Enjolras, Trans Montparnasse, Trans Éponine, nonbinary fauntleroy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 19,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdfalling/pseuds/littlebirdfalling
Summary: "What's your name? Or shall I keep thinking of you as ‘beautiful stranger’ in my head?”“Perhaps a trade is in order, your name for mine.”“Jehan. Jehan Prouvaire. Oh, and they/them pronouns.”“Montparnasse, He/him.”“Do you not have a last name, Parnasse?”“Ah. Well...” He leans in closer to them, a ghost of a smirk appearing on his lips. “I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you.”





	1. sailboats in the night

**Author's Note:**

> First of all thanks to Elise (@just-french-me-up on tumblr) for giving me this idea! You're the best ahhhhhh!

“I haven't seen you here before.” Jehan turns their head slightly. A man stands there, with a messy undercut, a devilish grin, and the most piercing green eyes they've ever seen.

“Astute. I haven't ever  _ been _ here before.”

“There's a first time for everything, I guess.” 

“Indeed there is.” Jehan agrees, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “What's your name? Or shall I keep thinking of you as ‘beautiful stranger’ in my head?”

“Perhaps a trade is in order, your name for mine.”

“Jehan. Jehan Prouvaire. Oh, and they/them pronouns.”

“Montparnasse, He/him.”

“Do you not have a last name, Parnasse?”

“Ah. Well...” He leans in closer to them, a ghost of a smirk appearing on his lips. “I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you.”

“I would have no objections.” Jehan replies. “So long as I am buried in the right outfit.” Surprised, Montparnasse tips his head back laughing.

“That's pretty far from the answer I typically get.” Jehan grins to themself, stirring their drink idly. “I would offer to buy you a drink, but you've been stirring the same one for nearly five minutes. Perhaps we could go somewhere else?” His voice is heavy with implications, and Jehan swallows.

“How do I know I can trust you, Montparnasse?”

“Oh, you absolutely can't.” He replies. “But I think you like that.” He winks, and Jehan feels a strange smoldering sensation underneath their skin, burning like a fire inside their veins. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, maybe foolish naivety, maybe the spark in Montparnasses eye that seems to warn of danger. But they want this. They want  _ him _ .

“Very well, then, seeing as I'm in need of a cigarette anyways.” They tip back the remainder of their drink in one fell swoop, and then hop off their stool with more grace than they expected. “Have you got a lighter?” In answer, he pulls one out of his pocket, leading them out the door. Once outside, Montparnasse lights them a cigarette, and their fingers brush when he hands it to them. Then he pulls out a cigarette of his own. Placing a hand on Jehan’s cheek to keep them still enough, he lights his cigarette off theirs, a crooked grin forming on their mouth. The nerve endings in his hand tingle when he moves away, and all he wants is to touch them again, to feel their soft skin under his-

He shoves his hand in his pocket, taking a long drag of his cigarette. The two walk in amicable silence for a moment, until Jehan speaks up.

“Where are we going?” They ask, conversationally.

“Well, I have a brand new bottle of pinot grigio in my apartment, and not a soul to share it with. If you’re willing...” 

“I am rather partial to pinot grigio.” They tell him, after a moment. There’s a certain playfulness in their eyes that has him smiling.

“It’s just around this corner.”

“Convenient.”

“I’m pretty sure my roommate picked this place only for it’s proximity to the bar.”

“Roomate?” They ask. His expression goes blank, numb. 

“Yeah. But, uh, he’s gone. We don’t...he’ll be back, though.” They nod in understanding.

“One time my roommate went missing for an entire week. When he finally showed up back home, he had a tattoo on his ass, a black eye, and a jacket that I  _ know _ wasn’t his. And he didn’t remember what had happened.”

“I have many, many questions.”

“So does he.”

“So, uh, this is it.” He stops in front of an apartment building, with rotting wooden steps and a dilapidated sign next to it. Jehan can’t make it out. “Home sweet home.” 

“Charming.” Jehan says, and Montparnasse snorts.

“It’s a shithole, but at least the neighbors don’t ask questions when I come home covered in blood.” He smiles wickedly, showing his teeth, and Jehan inadvertently shivers in...fear? Delight? Anticipation? They aren’t sure. “Well, uh, come in.” He leads them down a darkened hallway with a flickering lightbulb, and unlocks the second door on the right.   
His apartment is warmer, cozier, than they expected. There’s a blue couch that looks soft, and inviting, and a large tv. There’s even a kitchen island. There’s a window above the kitchen sink, and it’s open to let some cool air in. 

“Ah, shit, it’s raining. Should probably close that.” They glance outside and, sure enough, raindrops are beginning to pepper the asphalt, and wind is shaking the leaves from the tree outside.

“It’s lovely.” They say, softly. Montparnasse looks slightly surprised, but says

“Well, uh...glad to hear it. Come on, that Pinot Grigio won’t drink itself.” Sure enough, there’s a bottle of wine on his coffee table, that looks like it’s been opened. “I had a glass earlier, but drinking alone felt kind of pathetic.” 

“And then you went to the bar, so you could drink alone in the company of others.”

“Precisely.” Grinning, he reaches for the light switch on the wall, but when he flicks it nothing happens. “Oh, no. They fucking shut me off again. Uh, stay here. Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Jehan says, amused. He sets off towards a closed door, most likely his bedroom, and comes back with candles. “Come on, sit down.” He lights the candles as Jehan takes a seat on the couch, which is just as soft as they’d suspected. “There. At least we can see, now.” He glances up and decides the candles were  _ definitely _ a mistake. Jehan glows in the candlelight, their skin, their hair, even their  _ freckles. _ He feels that strange urge to touch them again, to rest a hand against the soft skin of their cheek. Swallowing hard, he takes the wine and pours them each a glass, not hesitating to knock his back immediately. Jehan grins, and follows suit. 

“Aren’t you supposed to savor wine?”

“Maybe. I don’t give a shit though, do you?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, you’ve smudged your lipstick.” He immediately regrets saying this, as now it’s  _ obvious _ that he’s been looking, staring at their soft, plump lips. They reach a hand up to their mouth, and it comes away purple. Carefully, delicately, they reach towards Montparnasse and run their thumb over his lip, staining it the same shade as theirs. Their hand comes to rest on his cheek, gentle and warm.

“I have to tell you something.” They whisper, not moving their hand.

“What?” Montparnasse asks, his voice low and husky.

“I fucking hate pinot grigio.” It takes a moment for him to register this, and in this time Jehan leans forward, closing the gap between them.

Montparnasse is used to fast. He’s used to  _ get them in the apartment, fuck, say goodnight.  _ He’s used to leaving early in the morning, or waking up to an empty bed. He’s used to quick, dirty, and meaningless.

He’s not used to this. He’s not used to the glide of skin on skin, or the infuriating slowness,  _ gentleness  _ even. He’s not used to the moaning, the pleading,  _ begging.  _ He’s not used to the passion that comes with actually  _ liking _ the person you’re in bed with. Half the time he doesn’t even know their names, and he doesn’t care anything for them one way or another. But Jehan is different, somehow. He finds himself not wanting it to end, not wanting them to go.

They don’t go. They curl up next to him, their hair fanned and splayed across the pillows,  _ his pillows, _ and fall asleep. He stays awake, unable to concentrate. He has purple lipstick smudged like bruises on his neck, and nail marks on his hipbones, and he can’t remember ever feeling so comfortable. He feels like he could eat the world, like he could do anything.

He must fall asleep though, because he wakes up to an empty bed. There’s a purple kiss on his hand, and a hastily scrawled phone number.

  
  


**Pain in the ass: are you fucking kidding me**

**Montparnasse: what do you want ep its too early for this**

**Pain in the ass: JEHAN? OF ALL FUCKING PEOPLE?**

**Montparnasse: wait what**

**Montparnasse: you know them?**

**Pain in the ass: OF COURSE I FUCKING KNOW THEM THEYRE ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS**

**Pain in the ass: dont do this to them parnasse**

**Montparnasse: i dont know what youre talking about**

**Pain in the ass: don’t you dare break their heart**

**Pain in the ass: i will fucking castrate you**

**Montparnasse: how the fuck am i supposed to break their heart it was a one time thing jesus**

**Pain in the ass: for your sake it better have been**

**Pain in the ass: i mean it parnasse**

**Montparnasse: calm the fuck down ep**

**Montparnasse: it was just sex that was literally it**

  
  


**_Les amis groupchat_ **

 

**_flowerchild: grantaire_ **

**_flowerchild: i finally understand your life_ **

**_Enjolras: that is a dangerous statement to make_ **

**_Mothmom: jehan sweetie what did you do_ **

**_MemeFucker: yeah even i have to agree that’s probably not a good thing_ **

**_flowerchild: i hooked up_ **

**_flowerchild: with a stranger_ **

**_flowerchild: that i met in a bar_ **

**_MemeFucker: YASSS JEHAN GET SOME_ **

**_Enjolras: jehan that could’ve been incredibly dangerous im disappointed in you_ **

**_Mothmom: Jehan im confused_ **

**_Mothmom: did the safety lecture i gave all of you not work?_ **

**_flowerchild: tbh i was probably doodling when you gave that_ **

**_Courfgayrac: jehan im so proud of you_ **

**_Courfgayrac: you arent a flowerchild anymore you’re a flower ADULT_ **

**_flowerchild: damn u right_ **

**_flowerchild: but i dont actually know how to change my username and at this point im too afraid to ask_ **

**_Courfgayrac: anyway i want the FULL SCOOP_ **

**_Courfgayrac: are you gonna like date this person?_ **

**_flowerchild: oh no its just a casual thing_ **

**_flowerchild: i dont think he’s really the dating type anyway_ **

**_flowerchild: but i did give him my number_ **

**_MemeFucker: honey im so fucking proud of you_ **

**_flowerchild: :D_ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do hope I don’t have to intervene again. Last time I broke Enj’s nose, and felt simply awful.”  
> “I thought you were all friends.”  
> “Oh, we are. But Grantaire is my dearest of heart, and when Enjolras said that Grantaire’s mother would be disappointed in him, it took Bahorel and Courfeyrac to hold me back.”  
> “Then how did you break his nose?”  
> “Oh, they had to let me go to stop Eponine.”

“I know that’s my weed.” Babet tells him, collapsing on Montparnasse’s couch. Montparnasse flips him off with remarkable accuracy, despite being upside down on the couch with his eyes closed. 

“Well, if you’d all stop leaving your shit at my apartment, I wouldn’t have it in the first place.” Babet snorts.

“If you really cared you wouldn’t have given us keys.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t install an alarm system either, so it’s technically on you.”

“Shit, Babet, you think I have that kind of money?” Babet rolls his eyes.

“Yes. I do. In fact I  _ know _ you do, I’m the one who pays you.”

“You pay me  _ shit. _ Especially lately, since...”

“It’s not my fault you and Claqueous can’t do shit without Gueulemer.” Babet’s voice is harsh, but Montparnasse is too tired to respond in kind.

“Fuck off, Babet. You don’t get to talk about Gee.”

“Funny, Claquesous said the same thing earlier. Damn near broke my nose too, the dickhead.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s your fault. Sending him out without backup like that.”

“It was  _ one guy. _ He should’ve been able to handle it.”

“Yeah, until one guy turned into four.”

“I didn’t know that was going to happen. You know I didn’t.”   


“I don’t care whether you knew or not. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“Fine. I’ll go steal some weed from Fauntleroy.”

“You would steal from your datemate?”

“Look, last week they took three of my knives and I didn’t even  _ notice _ until they’d walked out the door. I think I’ve earned some weed.”

 

Jehan hums to themself as they walk in the door of the musain.

“Good morning, Jehan!” Chetta says warmly. “I made you some tea.”

“As always, Chetta, you’re  _ amazing. _ ” She pats their head affectionately.

“Any time, dear. Keep an eye on my boys, will you?”

“Of course. I thought Joly was home with measles?”

“False alarm, Combeferre confirmed.” She replies with a smile. “Good luck up there, Grantaire and Enjolras are already fighting.”

“As always.” Jehan sighs. “I do hope I don’t have to intervene again. Last time I broke Enj’s nose, and felt simply  _ awful. _ ”

“I thought you were all friends.”

“Oh, we are. But Grantaire is my dearest of heart, and when Enjolras said that Grantaire’s mother would be disappointed in him, it took Bahorel  _ and _ Courfeyrac to hold me back.”

“Then how did you break his nose?”

“Oh, they had to let me go to stop Eponine.” They grin conspiratorially at her, and Chetta shakes her head. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” She sighs. “Go on, get up there before they start the meeting without you.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t.” Nevertheless, with a cheerful wave, they disappear up the stairs.

“Good afternoon!” They say.

“Ah, there they are!” Grantaire replies. “Jehan, our resident badass!” 

“Hello, Taire. You weren’t home when I got there, I hope everything is well?”

“Everything’s fine, I was with JBM. Didn’t I leave a note? I guess I might have forgotten.” 

“It’s very possible that I didn’t see it.” Jehan admits with a smile.

“Why? Were you distracted from a night of hot sex?” Courfeyrac asks, wiggling his eyebrows.“Spill, Jehan!”

“You two should  _ not _ be encouraging this kind of behavior.” Enjolras says, crossing his arms. Jehan feels the smile slipping from their face.

“I’m not a child, Enj, nor are you my mother.”

“They speak the truth, Apollo. Jehan is free to do whatever-or  _ whoever _ -they want.” Grantaire grins, clearly enjoying himself.

“Of course, Jehan. I didn’t intend to infantilize you. I only meant-” Combeferre shoots him a look, and Enj stops midsentence.

“Enjolras only meant to say that we were concerned for your safety, is all.” Jehan crosses their arms. “You have to admit, going home with strangers in a bar is definitely  _ not _ the safest behavior.” 

“There’s a difference between intrepid and reckless.” Enjolras interjects. Ferre turns around to face him.

“Stop. Talking.  _ You’re making it worse. _ ” He hisses.

“Do you guys not think I can take care of myself?” They ask, glaring daggers at anyone who dares meet eyes with them. “Because I may be the youngest here, but I feel very confident in my physical abilities. Except for Bahorel. I probably couldn’t take Bahorel.”

“Oh my god would everybody  _ relax? _ ” Eponine asks, standing up. “I know the guy. He can be a bit of a douche, and he’s definitely not above petty thievery, especially when it concerns weed, but he wouldn’t’ve hurt Jehan. He only hurts people who deserve it. Mostly.”

“Okay, that kind of makes me feel even worse.” Ferre admits. 

“He does kinda sound like a bad guy.” Courf admits. “But Jehan likes to live on the edge.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably never see him again.” Jehan sighs. “Although I did leave him my number.”

“You  _ left him _ your  _ number? _ ” Enjolras and Combeferre say in the same breath.

“Um, are we going to spend the whole meeting talking about Jehan’s sex life? Because like...I’d really,  _ really, _ rather not.” Marius says, his first words the entire meeting.

“Shut up, babe, this is better than the movies.” Cosette says, laying a finger on his lips.

“I really hope you’re getting this all down in the minutes.” Bahorel tells Joly.

“Every word.” Joly replies, a faint smile on his lips.

 

**Sous: GET OVER HERE TO BIZ’S PLACE**

**Sous: NOW**

**Montparnasse: holy shit chill im coming whats going on**

**Sous: we got a lead on gee**

 

Montparnasse walks in without knocking. Bizarro is knocking back a shotglass of what looks like whiskey, while Claquesous is loading his gun, his face pale and drawn.

“Hope you brought a gun.” Claquesous says, his tone clipped and sharp. “We’re killing these motherfuckers tonight.”

“Of course I brought a gun, who the hell are we killing?”

“Thenardier. Hopefully, anyway. Probably Barrecarrosse, Poussagrive, Carmagnolet.” Smirking a little, she pours a second shot and hands it to him.

“Ah. The old group.” He takes it and throws it back instantly, the whiskey burning his throat like liquid fire.

“Yup.” Bizzarro pops the p, hopping off the chair she’s perched on.

“How do we know this?”

“Glorieux still keeps an eye on them. They’ve gotten into human trafficking.”

“I knew that. We’ve known that for years. We just can’t fucking  _ find _ them.”

“Yeah, well, remember Brujon?”

“Course.”

“Yeah. He’s still in there. Turns out, Gee is their newest victim. So we gotta go, before it’s too late.”

“And how long has Glorieux known this?” Montparnasse asks slowly, realization kicking in.

“A week.” Something breaks loudly in the background. It’s Claquesous, throwing a plate at the wall. “Hey, go break your  _ own _ fucking plates!”

“Why the fuck didn’t he tell us?” Montparnasse asks.

“Because he didn’t want us charging into an ambush guns blazing.”

“But...isn’t that exactly what we’re doing?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, then, lets go get that motherfucker. He owes me twenty bucks.”


	3. of weasels and men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan is the love of my life, but I admittedly have a huge fucking weakness for Montparnasse. I need help i love him so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw i may have possibly borrowed (stolen) the idea of female Biz from Mardisoir because she's AMAZING. like if theres anyone left in this fandom who hasn't read One Thousand Nights yet...then what are you waiting for

Montparnasse watches the building silently, his finger on the trigger of his gun. The area is silent, apparently deserted, but he doesn't believe it actually is for a moment. Claquesous stubs out his cigarette, grinding it out under his heel.

“Let's go.” He mutters. Bizzarro grabs him by the collar, her face impassive.

“Calm your tits, ‘sous. Wait for the signal.”

“Fuck the  _ signal. _ ” Claquesous spits, yanking her hand away from his collar. “Gee is  _ in there, _ Biz.”

“I know. But-” A muffled scream echoes down the alley, so faint they almost miss it. This time, neither Bizarro or Montparnasse tries to stop Claquesous from running towards the building. They both take off after him, Bizzaro drawing her weapon mid-stride. 

It’s dark, dismal. Cobwebs line the space behind an abandoned front desk. But there’s a stairwell, and they can see a light emanating from below. Claquesous is frozen beside the stairwell, listening. Montparnasse hears the sound of a muffled groan.

“Tell us where Patron Minette is.” A mans voice hisses. They all hear Gee laugh, a broken sound that’s cut off by a harsh cough. “I said, tell me where they  _ are.”  _

_ “ _ Now, Barrecarrosse.” Thenardier’s voice is weaselly as ever, and Montparnasse feels himself stiffen. “Is that any way to treat our  _ guest? _ We’d better give him the  _ special treatment. _ ”

“But-” A sharp slapping sound resonates through the room.

“ _ Listen _ when I  _ speak _ to you.” He sounds impatient. “It’s been a week, and he’s not speaking. It’s time to try something...different.” There’s a sound of something sizzling, and then Gee screams loudly.

“ _ AaaahhhhhhhhhhFUCK. _ ” Claquesous is suddenly tearing down the stairs with reckless abandon. Montparnasse and Bizarro glance at each other, before following him. A gunshot rings out, and when they make it to the bottom of the stairs, Barrecarrosse is on the floor, a crimson stain spreading across the chest of his already bloodied shirt. Thenardier has a barely conscious Guelemer by the hair, a gun pressed to his temple. 

“Go ahead.” He says, grinning through yellowed teeth. “See what happens.” 

Claquesous grits his teeth.

“Let him go.”

“And let you shoot me? How stupid d’you think I am, boy?”

“Just put him down, and nobody gets hurt.” Bizarro says, attempting to reason. There’s a cold edge to her voice, one that seems to suggest  _ you’d better do as I say...or else. _

“Or, I shoot him, kill the three a’you, and then get away scot free.” Montparnasse’s finger tightens on the trigger.

“Go ahead. Try.” He threatens.

“Drop the weapons.” Thenardier says. “Drop the weapons and I let him go.”

“If you try anything, I’ll shoot you.” Claquesous says, his voice sending shivers down Montparnasse’s spine. “I’ll kill you, and feed you to the wolves.” There’s a long moment of silence.

He drops his gun, the sound echoing in the small room. Montparnasse and Bizarro follow suit, with a great deal of reluctance on Bizarro’s part. Thenardier stares them down for a long moment, then tosses Guelemer carelessly towards the wall, where he crumples. Claquesous and Montparnasse immediately run to his side, while Bizarro pulls a second gun from her boot and shoots at Thenardiers retreating back. One hits him in the arm, but it barely slows him.

“Gee?” Claquesous asks, uncertain. Guelemers in bad shape. There’s a long, rod shaped burn on his collarbone, the skin  blistering and bubbling. His ribs are broken too, judging by the pained way he’s breathing. And his face looks painfully swollen, a mass of bruises. “Come on, say something.”

“About time.” Guelemer manages, struggling to breathe. “Was...beginning to think...I’d have to...bust outta here myself...” Claquesous cracks a grin, the equivalent of a full bodied laugh for him.

“It’s a lost cause.” Bizarro admits, stepping back into the room. “He’s long gone, the fucking weasel.” Claquesous gently puts Gueulemers arm around his shoulder, signaling to Montparnasse to help him lift Gueulemer to his feet.

“Come on, you fuckwad. Let’s get you outta here before the cops show up.”

  
  


“-and so I said, ‘I’m fairly certain this book is not haunted. Of course one can never be sure, but I  _ am _ reasonably certain.”

“And what’d she say?” Grantaire asks, grinning.

“‘Of course, dear, you’re completely right. I think I’ll take it.” 

“So, to recap,” Muschietta says, “She asked you if the book was haunted and you pulled out your  _ ouija board? _ ”

“Of course.” Jehan replies. “What was I meant to do,  _ lie? _ ” Joly and Bossuet bust up laughing, and Grantaire shakes his head.

“Only you.” He says. “Only you.” Just then, Jehan’s phone buzzes. 

“Oh, it’s the groupchat.” Joly, Boss, Chetta, and Grantaire all pull out their phones at once, confused.

 

**_Les amis groupchat_ **

 

**_Enjolras: Can somebody please come bail me out?_ **

**_Mothmom: FFS what did you do this time_ **

**_Fwee: it wasnt entirely his fault_ **

**_Fwee: someone misgendered me and Enj decided to break his nose_ **

**_Enjolras: It was well deserved_ **

**_Fwee: and his arm_ **

**_Enjolras: That was unintentional but I can’t say I’m sorry about it_ **

**_Mothman: im in the middle of a class i cant just leave_ **

**_Courfgayrac: the bachelor is on sorry can u wait like 34 more minutes?_ **

**_ChettaCheese: i have a lasagna in the oven that will burn if i leave_ **

**_Flowerchild: i’m about to start a seance that i’ve been planning for a week_ **

 

“Traitors.” Grantaire hisses. Jehan grins at him.

“Go on.”

 

**_MemeFucker: never fear, mighty apollo_ **

**_MemeFucker: im on my way_ **

**_Enjolras: Thank you, Grantaire._ **

**_MemeFucker: anytime lol_ **

 

“It’s  _ cold. _ ” Gueulemer complains, removing the ice pack from his eye.

“Oh sure, broken ribs, sprained arm, black eye, third degree burn, just inconveniences. But an  _ icepack...”  _ Guelemer rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, ‘sous. Least I’m not afraid of needles.” Montparnasse snorts, hiding his smile behind a hand.

“Glad to have you back, Gee.” Biz says, collapsing in a chair. “These morons couldn’t do shit without you.” Montparnasse gasps indignantly, and Claqueous makes an affronted noise. Gueulemer just smiles 

“Just keep the fucking icepack on, douchebag.” Gueulemer scowls, but puts the icepack back on his face, closing his eyes. Montparnasse wisely decides not to comment on the unbelievably fond look Claquesous gives him, or the fact that they’re both sitting so closely on the couch that Claquesous might as well be sitting in Gueulemers lap. This is partly for his own physical safety-Claquesous has already broken his nose before-and partly because he thinks it’s  _ fucking hilarious. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways the les amis are bigger E/R shippers than i am and that's saying a LOT


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you guys doing at my apartment, at the ass-crack of fucking dawn?”
> 
> “It’s ten o clock.” Gueulemer says, amused.
> 
> “Didn’t you sleep well?” Claquesous asks innocently. “Or did the owner of that blue lipstick keep you up all night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit hard to write for some reason, but I got it out (almost) on time. So, if anyone's still reading this...enjoy???

Jehan’s dreams are restless. A pale hand on their collarbone, a dark head of hair, a delightful smirk. Around two in the morning, they finally give up on sleeping and step out of bed onto the cool hardwood floor. Their damp hair is sticking to their neck despite their fan on full blast, and the open window beside their bed. Grantaire is passed out on the couch when they step into the living room, beer bottles scattered on the floor. He’d argued with Enj, or he has artists block, or he was rejected by another studio, or he was just  _ craving it- _ Jehan’s lost track of Grantaire’s reasons for self destructing. They rest a hand on his forehead, and he stirs momentarily, not waking. Grabbing their house key, they slip on their shoes and close the door, paying no mind to the fact that they’re wearing nothing more than their boxer shorts, an overlarge t-shirt, and a fresh coat of their favorite lipstick.

Their feet lead them down a familiar street, to the front door of an apartment building. The door is unlocked, and they walk down the small, dark hallway, hesitating in front of apartment 4. Steeling their courage, they knock on the door, and Montparnasse answers. His hair is in disarray, and Jehan sees with no little satisfaction that a bruise still remains on his exposed neck. 

“Miss me?” They ask.

“I was wondering if I’d see you again.” He admits.

“I left my number...”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to call for three days.” He says, smirking infuriatingly. Jehan steps forward, wrapping their arms around his neck to drag him down to their level. Not breaking the kiss, he lifts them, and they wrap their legs around his waist. 

“Bedroom?” Montparnasse asks breathlessly, as Jehan’s lips roam to his collarbone.

“Bedroom.” They agree, mumbling into his collarbone in a way that makes him shiver. “ _ Now.” _

  
  


“Parnasse,” Claquesous says, opening his bedroom door, “Have you seen my-” He takes one look inside and closes the door, making a bewildered face. There’s someone  _ curled up next to him _ , someone with a falling apart braid and smudged blue lipstick on their face.

“Did you know he was dating someone?” He asks Bizarro, jerking a thumb towards Montparnasses room.

“No he’s not.” She says, dismissively. Gueulemer, rooting through the refrigerator, pauses.

“Probably picked someone up at a bar.” He guesses. 

“Do you think we should leave?” Fauntleroy asks, in a monotone that suggests it’s not really an option.

“Fuck no, there’s no food at Sous’s place, and I’m  _ hungry. _ ” Gee complains. “I’m cooking something before we do anything else.”

“Hmmm. Claquesous, why isn’t there any food at your house?” Fauntleroy asks, a vicious smile on their face. They damn well know the reason why, and he’s not going to give them the satisfaction-

“He hasn’t been eating much lately, why do you think he’s lost so much weight?” Bizzarro says, disapprovingly.

“I’ve been busy.” Claquesous mutters, neglecting to mention the worry that’s been eating him alive since Guelemer didn’t come back that night, since Glorieux had sat them down and told him point blank  _ ‘We don’t know where he is.’ _

The door slams shut, and Babet enters the living room.

“Oh, happy day. Fauntleroy, as I live and breathe.”

“Hello, my love. You have blood on your collar, it’s terribly distracting.” They say, a wicked grin asserting itself on their angelic face. “Would you like me to remove the shirt for you?”

“Oh my god,  _ get a room. _ ” Bizarro complains. “Y’all are fucking disgusting.” 

“What the fuck is going on in here.” Montparnasses hisses. 

“ _ Jesus, _ I wish you’d stop sneaking around like that.” Bizarro says.

“What are you guys doing at  _ my apartment _ , at the  _ ass-crack of fucking dawn? _ ”

“It’s ten o clock.” Gueulemer says, amused.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” Claquesous asks innocently. “Or did the owner of that blue lipstick keep you up all night?” Montparnasse rubs at his jaw furiously, trying to get the incriminating indigo stain out, but it’s no use.

“Come on, tell us, who are they?” Bizarro asks, leaning forwards.

“ _ Nobody. _ ” He says, clenching his jaw. “Just-shut up. All of you  _ shut the fuck up. _ ” There’s a strange sound then, the sound of his window sliding closed with a muted thud.

His bedroom is empty, save for a note pinned to his bureau by his hairbrush. It’s an address, written with his favorite blue pen in Jehan’s cramped scrawl. Despite himself, he smiles, staring at Jehan’s footprints in the mud outside his window.

 

“Jehan.” Grantaire says, snapping his fingers. “Earth to Jehan.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” They say, setting down their phone. Montparnasse has yet to text them, but they can’t help but hope, no matter how improbable it is. “I guess I’m slightly distracted today.”

“Does that distraction have anything to do with you being gone all night?”

“Ooooh, really?” Courf asks, somehow appearing behind Grantaire without warning. “Methinks someone got  _ laaaiiiid. _ ” The meeting quiets, everyone hearing Courf’s words.

“Oh for  _ fucks sake. _ ” Ep groans. “Not this again. Please, just tell me it wasn’t another stranger you met at a bar.”

“Well...He’s not technically a  _ stranger. _ ”

“Oh no. Fuck no. Not him. Anyone but him.” Ep pleads. “I take it back, I’d rather it be a stranger than  _ Montparnasse. _ ” Everyone gasps as one, even Grantaire.

“Wait, it was  _ Montparnasse _ you met in the bar?” He asks quietly.

“Uh..yeah? I didn’t even know you guys knew him.” They say, confused.

“I got arrested at the same time as him.” Enjolras muttered. “He flirted with the guard, and then stole his wallet when he wasn’t looking.”

“I knew him in high school, before he dropped out. He was into all sorts of bad shit.” Courfeyrac frowns. 

“Met him through my father.” Eponine mutters, and that’s enough to shut everyone else up. If he was associated with  _ Thenardier, _ then... “And no, it’s not what you’re thinking. Montparnasse tried to kill the bastard. Wish he’d managed. Anyway, Mont’s a decent lay, but he kept stealing my weed. I haven’t seen him in months.” 

“Jehan, he’s bad news.” Grantaire says. “You can’t trust him.”

“You’re wrong.” Jehan says, with a frown. 

“What, you hop in the sack with him a couple times and decide he’s a fucking  _ saint? _ ” Courfeyrac spits.

“Of course he’s not a  _ saint. _ ” They say. “But you’re all judging him too harshly.”

“I really don’t think we are.” Courfeyrac replies, crossing his arms.

“Jehan, sweetie, you just met him.” Cosette says, attempting to be reasonable. 

“So what? So I’m supposed to just sit here and listen to you guys  _ trash talk _ him?”

“It isn’t trash talk if it’s true.” Enj mutters.

“Unbelievable.  _ You _ do not get to judge me for  _ my choices. _ Because I  _ like _ him. And I may even  _ keep _ sleeping with him. And,  _ furthermore,  _ I’m sick of you all acting like I’m irresponsible, or I’m childish. I’m not naive. And quite frankly, it’s insulting that you all seem to think I am.” They shove their chair into the table roughly and walk out, slamming the door behind them.


	5. of roses and thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unknown number: I appreciate the dramatics but you could have left by way of the front door
> 
> Jehan: But where’s the fun in that???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've probably said this about every character so far....but i love Fauntleroy and I LOVE writing for them so much

**Unknown number: I appreciate the dramatics but you could have left by way of the front door**

**Jehan: But where’s the fun in that???**

 

“Jehan, are you home?” Grantaire says, opening the door.

“In here.” They call from their bedroom. They’re dressed in their pajamas, a Friends rerun playing on the television.

“Hey.” He says, softly. With a sigh, they pause the television, moving over to make room for him.

“I’m sorry I left. But it really does get irritating, all of you trying to look out for me. It just feels suffocating and infantilizing.”

“Jehan, you know why we’re so protective of you. You  _ know _ why we worry.” Grantaire reminds them.

“That has  _ nothing _ to do with it.”

“When was your last appointment?”

“I  _ said _ I don’t want to talk about it.” He drops it, pressing play on the remote. They rest their head on his shoulder, closing their eyes, and he presses a kiss to the side of their head. Despite what they may say, Jehan is like a sibling to him, and it hurts his chest to see them so weak and small.

 

“Are you sure you didn’t imagine them, ‘sous?” Gueulemer asks. Claquesous ponders.

“Hmmm. Perhaps. It is strange to think that someone would want to do the nasty with this fucker.” Montparnasse buries his face in his hands.

“I can’t believe they jumped out the window to get away from him.” Bizzarro joins in.

“We’re on the first floor.” Montparnasse sighs.

“Even so...” Fauntleroy shakes their head, blue curls falling haphazardly in their face. They stand up abruptly, and Montparnasse catches the murderous glint in their eye. “I’m bored. Babet,  _ mon cher,  _ let’s go.” With a roll of his eyes, Babet stands.

“You’d better have brought your helmet, I’m not taking you on the motorcycle without it.”

“Yes you are.” They reply. “Come on, there’s somewhere I want to go.” The door closes behind them, and Montparnasse breathes a sigh of relief. Only three more of them to get rid of.

“Come on, then, tell us about them.” Gueulemer says, flopping down on the couch. He’s saved from having to answer this when Gueulemer makes a noise of pain. Bizarro snorts, and Claquesous is immediately on high alert.

“What did you do, you moron? Did you rip a stitch?”

“I’m fine, Sous, shove off.”

“Fine, then, see if I get you any more frozen peas, you dick.” 

“I don’t need fucking  _ frozen peas. _ ” Gueulemer mutters. 

“You sure? Because he’ll get them for you. You know he will. He’d do  _ aaaannyyything _ for you.” Bizarro bats her eyelashes, and Claquesous rolls his eyes.

“No, see, Biz, you’ve mistaken pity for altruism.”

“Mmmmmm, but have I?” She asks, hand on hip. Claquesous flashes her a warning glare, but apparently Bizarro has no sense of self preservation, because she continues. “I mean, jesus  _ christ, _ you drunk called me  _ five times _ last week, because-” She’s interrupted by Claquesous’s fist connecting solidly with her nose, and she grabs his arm without delay, twisting it behind his back. Grabbing his collar, she pins him against the wall.

“You wanna do this?” She hisses. “Then fine, let’s fucking do this.”

“Hey, hey,  _ fuck _ no.” Montparnasse says. “If you’re gonna do that, get the fuck out of my apartment.” Biz snorts, releasing the collar of Claquesous’s shirt, and he yanks his arm back.

“Bitch.” He says, but the fury’s gone.

“Douchewad.” She replies. 

“Shut the fuck up, both of you, House M.D is on.” Gueulemer shouts. 

“Oh, it is?” Claquesous grabs the remote and shuts the tv off, causing Guelemer to protest. Throwing the remote at Montparnasse, who catches it easily, he stalks out of the apartment and slams the door.

 

“You are indeed a wonder, Faunt.”

“Oh, darling, I know.” They grin. “Do you remember, the first time we came here?” Babet laughs delightedly.

“Yeah. We were sixteen and stupid, and you jumped out your window to run to my place. We got drunk on that shitty bottle of wine in the back of my fridge.”

“And then I said ‘I need to move, I need to feel free.’ And we jumped on your motorcycle and rode through the night.”

“That was the first time we kissed, on this playground.” He smiles, brushing their curls out of their eyes. “I like the blue, it suits you.”

“And I like that blood on your collar, nearly as much as I like what’s beneath.” They toy with his collar suggestively, and he grins.

“You are a  _ devil. _ Take it then, take me as your own.”

“Have I told you about this mole, right here? I quite like it.”

“I think you have.”

“And this?”

“Ah, I don’t know.”

“Well, what about this?”

“Perhaps you should remind me.”

“Gladly.”

 

**Ep: You’re a bastard and I hope you rot in hell**

**Montparnasse: what have i done this time?**

**Ep: not a what, a WHO**

**Montparnasse: jehan?**

**Ep: stay the fuck away from them**

**Ep: i swear to god if they get hurt because of you i will cut off your dick and wear it on a chain around my neck**

**Montparnasse: Flattering but unnecessary**

**Ep: you never have sex with someone twice in a row and you never text them**

**Montparnasse: you wanna take a look in the mirror?**

**Ep: yeah well look where that got me**

“Grantaire, do you want to order something?” Jehan asks, opening their bedroom door. “I’m starving, but I really don’t want to cook anything.” The couch, his usual place of rest for unfathomable reasons, is empty, and there’s no note in the living room or the kitchen. Wheeling around, they open his door, but that too is devoid of life. There are several canvases covered in cloth, most likely in preparation for his next exhibit, but Grantaire himself is nowhere to be found. Pulling their phone out of their pocket, they click his contact, and listen as the phone rings. And rings. 

_ “It’s Grand R. Heh. You probably didn’t mean to call me, but if you did, congrats! You found me. Leave a message or whatever, I’m probably just being too lazy to pick up my phone.”  _

“R? It’s Jehan. Just wondering where you’d gone off to. Hopefully you’re getting breakfast, haha. Seriously, call me back when you get this. Love you.” 

 

**_Grantaire protection squad_ **

 

**_Flowerchild: has anyone seen R? He wasnt in the apartment when i woke up and he didnt leave a note_ **

**_Flowerchild: he isnt answering his phone either_ **

**_ChettaCheese: we havent seen him_ **

**_Epoqueen: negatory_ **

**_Courfgayrac: we havent seen him either_ **

**_cinamonnroll: This is worrying_ **

**_Epoqueen: its not like last time sette_ **

**_cinammonroll: i hope you’re right_ **

  
  
  



	6. restless spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No sparring in my living room!” Jehan cries, jumping up. “You’ll disturb the spirits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the next three chapters written out thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration. it was so hard not to post this early lol

Grantaire slams his bottle on the counter, groaning.

“It's barely noon.” An all too familiar voice behind him drawls. “Come on, Grantaire, you've sunk to new depths now.”

“Fuck off, Parnasse.” He mutters. “Did Jehan send you looking?”

“I...no. I'm looking for Claquesous. How do you know Jehan?”

“They're only one of my best friends, no biggie.”

“Funny, I don't seem to remember you having all that many friends.” Montparnasse muses, sitting down beside him.

“It's been two years. Things have changed.”

“Clearly.” Montparnasse rolls his eyes. “Go home. And take a shower, for fucks sake, you smell  _ awful. _ ”

“Fuck you, you don't tell me what to do.”

“Nor do I want to.” Montparnasse wrinkles his nose. “That time is past. But this is sad. Really sad.”

“What the fuck does it matter.” Grantaire mutters. “Might as well sit here and rot. Drink myself to death while I'm at it. S’not like my life's going anywhere.”

“Oh yes, please, do tell me what's got you so upset.”

“Rejected again.” Grantaire mutters, ignoring Montparnasse’s sarcasm. “My art apparently wasn't a ‘good fit’. It was too experimental or some bullshit.”

“Oh, for fucks sake...” Sighing, Montparnasse grabs Grantaire arm, helping him stand. “Come on, you're going home, if only so I don't have to listen to this anymore.” Surprisingly, Grantaire complies, exiting with no protest other than a scowl. Montparnasse realises only a moment after leaving that he doesn't know where Grantaire lives. Grantaire apparently realises this too, because he sets off down the street, muttering something to himself. Montparnasse keeps pace easily, lighting a cigarette and offering a second to Grantaire, who waves him off.

“Go away, you're a dick.” He mutters.

“I'm hurt. Truly.” Grantaire steps up to an apartment building, pulling the door open, and Montparnasse follows him in, up the stairs and to a door marked  _ 4c _ . He knocks on the door, as Grantaire clearly doesn't want to, and a familiar redhead greets them at the door.

“Grantaire! I was so...” Their voice trails off, as Montparnasse gapes. “Montparnasse?” There are hundreds of questions swirling around his brain, but the first one out of his mouth is directed towards Grantaire.

“You have a tattoo on your ass?” Rolling his eyes, Grantaire stumbles inside.

“I...I never thought you'd actually come.” They admit. He can’t help but notice their outfit, a floral tank top that shows off their freckled shoulders (where he can still see the marks his mouth left on their skin) and nothing but their boxers underneath.

“Believe me, I didn't know you lived here. He was drunk, and I dragged him home so he would shut up.”

“Is he okay?”

“Fine. Some art studio rejected him or something.”

“Oh, no.” They wince. “Do you...will you come in?” He nods mutely, not trusting his voice in the face of their somber tone.

 

“Drink this.” Jehan says, handing Grantaire a glass of water. Their tone leaves no room for him to argue, and he accepts the water with a shake of his head.

“My head hurts.” He mutters.

“Oh, I know, honey. Just drink that, and then you can take a shower.”

“Don't wanna.”

“You'll feel better.” Grantaire sips the water in sulky silence, a deep set frown on his face. 

“Where was he?” They ask, quietly. 

“That bar down the street.”  _ Where we met _ , he thinks, but doesn't add. 

“I should text everybody, let them know he's home safe.”

“Yeah. I should, uh, I should get back. I'm kinda looking for someone. A...friend...I guess.”

“I hope you find them.” Jehan smiles, and presses a kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. “Goodbye, Montparnasse.”

“Uh. Yeah, bye. I’ll-I’ll text you later.” Montparnasse says, fumbling for the doorknob so he can  _ get out _ before the growing problem in his jeans becomes more obvious. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Judging by Jehan’s cheeky wink, he’s pretty sure they realise, and he’s pretty sure they’re proud of themselves, the little  _ minx. _

  
  


**_Grantaire protection squad_ **

 

**_Flowerchild: good news! He’s home!_ **

**_Flowerchild: bad news, hes drunk_ **

**_Courfgayrac: damn_ **

**_ChettaCheese: What happened???_ **

**_Epoqueen: do i need to fight someone?_ **

**_cinnamonroll: PONINE NO_ **

**_Epoqueen: PONINE YES_ **

**_Epoqueen: IF SOMEONE HURT MY BOI THERE’S GONNA BE HELL TO PAY_ **

**_Flowerchild: i wholeheartedly agree but i doubt you can fight an entire art studio_ **

**_Epoqueen: oh damn did he get rejected again?_ **

**_BossAss: Oh wow that sucksss_ **

**_Joli: we send R all our love_ **

**_ChettaCheese: im bringing over some corn chowder_ **

**_Flowerchild: good idea, i don’t think he’s eaten_ **

**_Joli: we’ll be there soon loves!_ **

**_Fwee: Yikes i missed a lot im glad taire’s okay_ **

**_Fwee: if he wants i can come over as well?_ **

**_BAEhorel: ooohhh if they’re coming can i come too?_ **

**_Flowerchild: of course! Im sure he’d love to see you two_ **

**_Courfgayrac: damn ok we’re coming too then!_ **

**_Mothmom: We’ll bring Enj with us._ **

**_Flowerchild: um_ **

**_Flowerchild: just make sure he’s fully aware of the situation_ **

**_Flowerchild: I love him, but he has a bad tendency to make situations worse by speaking without thinking, especially where r is concerned_ **

**_Courfgayrac: dw we’ve been filling him in the whole time he’s been v worried_ **

  
  


The first to arrive are Muschietta, Joly, and Bossuet. Muschietta folds Grantaire into a hug the moment she sees him, causing him to begin crying into her shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Jehan vaguely hears him mutter. Jehan takes the crockpot of chowder from Bossuet, and him and Joly wrap themselves around Grantaire, murmuring words of comfort.

Things have calmed down by the time Feuilly and Bahorel arrive, Grantaire is braiding Jehan’s hair as Joly excitedly tells him about a book he’s just read, and Bossuet and Muschietta are laughing as they attempt to play a two person game of cards against humanity. 

“ _ Grantaire! _ ” Feuilly calls, excited. 

“Feuilly! I’ve missed you!” Grantaire replies, handing Jehan their braid so he can hug Feuilly. The instant he lets go of Feuilly, though, Bahorel pounces, grabbing him in a headlock.

“R, you little shit, you missed our boxing day! Don’t tell me you’re getting rusty!”

“You wish.” He replies, worming out of the headlock. “I could take you any day, old man.”

“No sparring in my living room!” Jehan cries, jumping up. “You’ll disturb the spirits.”

“Yes,” Feuilly says, their face sincere. “Bahorel, we can’t disturb the  _ spirits. _ ” They glance at Grantaire and then crack up laughing. Bahorel, grinning, reaches over to pull Jehan into a hug.

“Jehan, one of my two favorite genderless entities. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful.” 

“That they are.” Grantaire interjects. “I dunno where I’d be without them.” Sitting back on the couch, he motions for Jehan to sit back down so he can finish their braid. “Feuilly, what happened to your hands?” They glance down at the bandaids adorning their hands with a sheepish smile.

“Nothing, I was volunteering at the animal shelter today, and some of the cats were very enthusiastic.” 

“Grantaire, you dick _. _ ” Eponine calls, opening the door. “Where are you?”

“Right here, Ponine.” He says, with a wry grin. “Come to yell at me?”

“Something like that. Don’t worry, I brought ‘sette with me to hold me back.”

“Hi, Grantaire.” Cosette grins, unwinding her scarf. 

“Cosette, you sweetheart, we are unworthy of your presence.” He says, opening his arms for her to hug him. She complies immediately, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And Pontmercy, too? I should have known you three wouldn’t go anywhere separately.”

“Hey.” Marius waves, slightly awkwardly. 

“Oi, Marius, come play Cards Against Humanity with us!” Bossuet grins.

“Nope, you are  _ not _ corrupting him.” Eponine says, even as Cosette sits down to play with an excited smile.

“Excellent, who’s card czar right now?” She asks.   


“Chetta.”

“Oh, perfect, Chetta  _ always _ chooses my cards.” She reaches over to high five Muschietta, who winks at her. 

“Everyone, the party can start, I’m here!” Courf shouts, stepping inside. “What the fuck is up, my peeps?”

“I’m sorry about...this.” Combeferre sighs, motioning to Courf. “He was just  _ really excited  _ to come over.” 

Enjolras steps inside then, his coat as vividly red as ever, and the room goes quiet as Grantaire sucks in a sharp breath. Everyone stares at them, waiting for one of them to say something, but they only have eyes for each other.

“Hey.” Enjolras says, quietly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Course I am.” Grantaire says, with a crooked grin. “Why, were you worried?”

“I was.” Enjolras admits, not rising to the bait for once. “We all were. I’m glad you’re home safely.”

“I’m glad you came.” Grantaire replies, his voice soft and subdued. The blood floods his cheeks as he realises what he’s said, and he quickly looks back down at Jehan’s hair, suddenly very engrossed in finishing their braid. Enjolras looks away as well, his cheeks as red as his coat.  

“So!” Courfeyrac claps his hands, drawing all attention to himself. “Let’s watch a movie!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: these are my children and i love them all. Any harm that befalls them is only for purposes of angst.


	7. of mayhem and madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are we even debating Harry Potter?” Grantaire asks after a moment. “I swear to god, I left for one second to get a drink and all hell broke loose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok SO i know this chapter is late lmao. Sorry, I've just been busy lately with rehearsals and, to be honest, I haven't had that much inspiration anyway. To the two or three people actually reading this, thank you, and maybe leave a comment? It'll make my day, possibly my week.

Montparnasse steps inside Claquesous’s apartment, closing the door with his foot. It’s dark, the only light coming from the television set. Claquesous himself is sat cross legged on the couch, joint between his fingers and beer bottles littering the floor.

“What the fuck do you want.” Claquesous mutters, not looking at him.

“Well, you know, Gee tried to look for you himself. Of course, he didn’t make it much farther than the door, not with his ankle.” Claquesous winces, his face flashing with guilt.

“Serves that fucker right.” He mutters, but they both know he doesn’t mean it.  

“I’m sending him back here.” Montparnasse says, taking the joint from his fingers. “Clean this shit up and  _ get your act together. _ ”

“Whatever.” Claquesous mutters. “S’not like he’s never seen me wasted, or stoned.” 

“I don’t give a shit. You know what he’s going to think when he sees this.”

“Yeah, ‘poor sous, pathetic sous, can’t make it one night without getting stoned or drunk off his ass, even when Gee isn’t-” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard. Montparnasse decides that he  _ definitely _ doesn’t get paid enough for this.  

“Shut the fuck up, I didn’t come here for your pity party.” Claquesous throws a beer bottle at him, but it shatters harmlessly on the wall behind his head. “Grow the fuck up, ‘sous. Gee needs you right now.”

“Well  _ I _ don’t need  _ him. _ ”

A knock sounds on the door then, and they can hear Biz swearing loudly. The lock clicks then, and Biz and Gueulemer appear in the door.

“I gave you a key, stop picking my lock.” Claquesous grouches.

“Occupational hazard.” Biz replies, unfazed. She saunters in, and Montparnasse sees her frown at the broken glass on the floor. 

“You better have some fucking frozen peas.” Gueulemer mutters. “It’s a long fucking walk here.”

“I carried you most of the way.” Biz replies, rolling her eyes.

“Why the hell did you two walk all the way here, anyway?” Claquesous asks. Gueulemer averts his eyes, and Biz crosses her arms.

“Yes,  _ Gueulemer, _ why  _ did _ we walk all the way here?”

“I, uh. I left all my stuff here.” Gueulemer mutters, a blatant lie, and Montparnasse catches Biz’s eye.

“Whatever. Sit down before you pop a stitch or something.” Claquesous orders. “And you better not be wearing your binder, with your cracked ribs.” Gueulemer rolls his eyes, and Claquesous throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “For  _ fucks sake- _ ”

“I’m not wearing it, chill, I know better.” Gueulemer mutters. “Plus my ribs hurt like hell.”

“Hm.” Claquesous sits down on the couch next to him, handing him the remote. Montparnasse sits on the edge, practically perching on the arm of the couch, and Biz sits down next to him, putting her legs in Gueulemer’s lap and her head in Montparnasse’s.

When Montparnasse looks up again, Gueulemer is asleep with his head on Claquesous’s shoulder, and Sous could rival a tomato in color alone. 

 

"I'm just saying, Snape wasn't a great guy. Like, at all. I mean, he practically tortured Neville, and he was such a dick to Harry. His students were terrified of him."

"I'm not defending his actions." Combeferre replies. "I'm just saying, at the end he made the ultimate sacrifice, and that's how I want to remember him. He might not have been a great guy, but at least he was on the right side. And isn't that what really counts in the end?"

"No! He-" Ep starts.

"Okay, okay, break it up." Jehan groans. "We don't have to call him good or bad. There's shades of gray everywhere. Can we just agree that he did some good things and some bad things, and leave it at that?" Ep and Ferre both huff, annoyed, but the discussion is shelved.

“Why are we even debating Harry Potter?” Grantaire asks after a moment. “I swear to god, I left for one second to get a drink and all hell broke loose.”

“It was Courf’s fault.” Cosette says. “Sorry, Courf, I love you, but it’s true.”

“Hey!” Courfeyrac replies, indignantly. “All I said was ‘let’s watch Harry Potter’ but Ep said she didn’t like Snape so we couldn’t. So technically, it’s Ep’s fault.”

“Hey, don’t blame ‘Ponine.” Cosette says. “She’s right, Snape was a dick.”

“Didn’t we just agree to end this conversation?” Musichetta asks, amused.

“Lets just find something else to watch, oh my god.” Grantaire says. “Are you guys caught up with Queer Eye yet?” Everyone simultaneously starts talking, then. Courf is enthusiastically gushing about how amazing the show is despite the fact that nobody is listening to him, Enjolras is ranting to a nervous looking Marius about how problematic most lgbt representation on TV is, Cosette, Eponine, and Ferre are once again arguing about Snape, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are laughing at their game of Cards against humanity, and Bahorel and Feuilly are yelling at each other. They like to have normal conversations at screaming level during times like these, solely because they think it’s funny. Jehan catches something about buying milk, but the rest of it is swallowed up in the noise.

“You know,” Grantaire says. “I’m beginning to think that having everyone over here was a bad idea.”

“You might just be right.” Jehan replies, smiling. “But you have to admit, it’s certainly entertaining.”

 

Bizarro tosses a can of beer to Montparnasse, and opens a second without so much as chipping a scarlet fingernail. 

“I can’t believe these two.” She sighs. 

“I thought it’d be  _ better _ when Gee came back, but turns out its worse.” Montparnasse grimaces. “At least they’re not nearly as bad as Faunt and Babet.”

“No, they’re just as bad, there’s just less sexual tension.” Bizarro knocks back her drink without hesitation, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “We gotta do something about this.”

“Uh-uh. Nope. No way in hell am I touching that with a ten foot pole.” Montparnasse says, vehemently. “Those two can work out their own fuckin issues.”

“Shame, we could’ve had so much fun.” She grins wickedly, and he feels a shiver go down his spine.

“I don’t even want to know what you had planned.”

 


	8. of late night reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooohhh look at me actually getting a chapter done on time!!! What are the odds??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely shameless fluff, and I'm not the least bit sorry

“Jehan, how are you feeling?” Combeferre asks, suddenly.   
“I’m fine.” They reply, voice lacking it’s customary warmth.

“Are you sure? Dr Markinson told me you never showed up for your last appointment.”

“Combeferre, I’m  fine. ” They say. “Shall we watch another movie? Who wants The Princess Bride?”

 

It’s easy enough to bid them all adieu that night. Bahorel and Feuilly are the first to leave, as Feuilly has to work in the morning. Cosette and Marius are next, Eponine promising to be along soon. Courfeyrac and Combeferre make their excuses as well, slipping out the door. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta leave with many hugs and promises to come back, once Grantaire starts hinting that he’d like to sleep. Soon the only people left are Eponine and Enjolras. Eponine doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere soon, her head in Grantaire’s lap and a cigarette dangling from her lips. 

“I should probably leave.” Enjolras says ruefully.

“Oh, and I was having such fun discussing capitalism with you.” Grantaire says. “Pray, Apollo, continue telling me how wrong I am.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“Tomorrow.” He promises. “You’re coming to the meeting, right?”

“Like I’d miss a chance to argue with you.” Grantaire replies, smirking. “Goodnight,  ange. ” 

“Goodnight, R.” The door has scarcely closed before Eponine is snickering.

“You know, if you don't want him to know about your  oh-so-secret  crush, you probably shouldn't call him an angel. Just a thought.”

“Piss off, Ep, it's a pun. You know, Enj, Ange.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it isn’t exactly subtle.” He rolls his eyes and pushes her off his lap. She sits up with a grin. “Jehan, back me up here.”

“It really isn’t subtle at all.” Jehan admits. “But we all know Enjolras is practically blind when it comes to these things.”

“Amen to that.” Grantaire mutters, snatching Eponine’s cigarette to take a drag. She doesn’t really seem to mind.

 

It’s two in the morning when a knock sounds on Montparnasse’s door. With a roll of his eyes, he makes up his mind to tell Babet to  fuck off, what makes you think you can just show up at anytime?   
It’s not Babet. It’s not anyone from Patron Minette, actually.

It’s Jehan

“Hey.” They say, grinning. “Hope you don’t mind how late it is.”

“I’m a night owl.” He says in answer. “Come in, then.”

“I couldn’t help but notice, after our meeting earlier, you seemed rather in a hurry to go.” They say, impish smile adorning their face.

“Yes, well, things to do, people to see, etcetera.”

“Pity...” They whisper. “I would’ve rather liked it if you’d stayed a bit longer...”

“Perhaps I can make it up to you.” He says, toying with the button on their shirt.

“Absolutely.” That’s all the answer he needs. 

 

Les amis groupchat

 

Courgayrac: I CONVINCED FERRE TO ADOPT A CAT

Mothmom: i cant believe it either, dont worry

MemeFucker: i stand by my statement that courf can hypnotize people

Courfgayrac: shhhh nobodys supposed to know that taire

MemeFucker: btw anyone seen Jehan? 

Epoqueen: oh for fucks sake theyre probably with montparnasse

MemeFucker: i dont like the guy either ep but they seem happy

Enjolras: Indeed. Despite my previous opinion, I believe we should allow Jehan to make their own choices without our criticism. They deserve to be happy.

MemeFucker: wait did you just agree with me?

Cinnamonroll: this is one for the history books!

Enjolras: I’ll deny it to my last breath.

 

Jehan is humming under their breath as they enter the musain, evidently in high spirits.

“You’re looking well, Jehan.” Musichetta says.

“Why thank you, Chetta. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Still smiling, they all but skip up the stairs to the meeting. 

“Hello, Jehan!” Grantaire says, cheerfully. A pair of arms is flung around them from behind.

“Guess who?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Hmm, must be Enj.” They tease.

“Ouch, Jehan. You wound me.” Courfeyrac teases, pulling away.

“Uh, guys?” Everyone falls silent, looking at Combeferre. He looks nervous. “Courfeyrac and I have something to tell you.” 

“Ooh, can I say?” Courfeyrac asks, grinning widely as he steps beside him. Jehan notices the rings a second before Courf shouts “We're getting married!” slinging an arm around Ferre’s shoulder. The room erupts with sound, cheers and congratulations being shouted from every corner of the room. Courfeyrac and Combeferre somehow become the center of an impromptu group hug within seconds, and Jehan finds themself with an arm around Courfeyrac, another around Eponine, Cosette's arm around their waist, and Grantaires chin on their head. Everybody is deliriously happy. Unsuprisingly, no work gets done that day, owing in part to the fact that their most organized person keeps getting distracted by his fiance, mostly because Courf won't stop kissing him. The other part is because Enjolras can't stop congratulating the two, with the widest grin Jehan has ever seen on his face. 

“By the way, Enj,” Combeferre starts. “I'd like to ask you to be my best man.” Enjolras squeaks. There's no other word for it.

“Me?” He asks, breathlessly.

“Yes, of course.” Ferre replies, smiling.

“I'd be  honored. ” He manages.

“And Grantaire, I want you to be  my best man.” Courfeyrac says, grinning widely. Grantaires jaw drops.

“I-wow. Yeah, oh my god, of course I'll be your fucking best man.” He manages to reach across the table to hug Courf-a nearly impossible feat, but if anyone could accomplish it, it would be those two.  “And Jehan, we want you to be our flower spreading person.” Courf says.

“Oh, I was so hoping you'd say that, I've always wanted to do that! It looks so fun, scattering the rose petals everywhere.”

“Perfect. Eponine, will you be our ring bearer?” Ferre asks. She raises an eyebrow.

“Sure, if you really want me to.” 

“Thank you.” Courf says, gratefully. “Sette, I'm hoping you'll agree to be in charge of decorations?”

“Ooohhhhhh, of course! I've already got some ideas.”

“Awesome, as long as there's loads of glitter.”

“I'm so happy for the both of you!” Enjolras says, for what must be the tenth time. 

“Thanks.” Courf replies, taking Ferres hand. “We're just really happy.”


	9. Of broken bones and lingering fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's ignore how late this is, shall we?

Sous: what are you doing

Montparnasse: why?

Sous: here rn

Sound: with gee

 

The door opens, then-one of them picked the lock. Montparnasse can't even muster up any anger, only mild irritation.

“Thanks for the warning.” He says wryly. “Now, what the fuck are you doing here.”

“Glad to see you too.” Gee replies.

“Much as I like being here,” Claquesous says, wrinkling his nose at the dishes in Montparnasse's sink, “We aren't here to chitchat.”

“The day you stop by for chitchat, I’m checking you into the psych ward. Out with it, then, what's going on?”

“We caught wind of Poussagrive, and... you're not gonna like this bit.”

“Would you just fucking spit it out?” Montparnasse sighs.

“Brujon sold us out.” Claquesous completes. “They knew we were coming that night. We just got there early enough that we avoided the ambush.”

“That bastard.” Montparnasse seethes. “We’re taking him down.”

“You know it. Get dressed, we're headed over to Biz’s place.”

  
  


It’s pouring outside. The thunder crashes in the distance as Jehan pours themselves a cup of tea, watching the raindrops slide down the window. It’s rather peaceful, and they let themself be silent for a moment, staring pensively out the window.

Their momentary peace is interrupted by a loud knocking at the door.

“I’m coming.” They call with a sigh, setting their mug on the table. So much for a quiet day in...

Eponine looks like a drowned cat, her hair sticking up every which way, her eyes wide and tearsoaked. “Oh my god, Ep, is everything okay?” She bursts into tears without prelude, and Jehan quickly closes the door. “Come in, sweetie.” Grantaire is already in the living room, as if sensing that something is wrong.

“Ep?” He asks. “What happened?”

“Who do we have to fight? We can make it happen.” Jehan says, completely serious.

“I-I-” She hiccups. “It’s Gav. He’s in the hospital.”

“Was it your father.” Grantaire asks, murder in his eyes.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, he wouldn’t say, he just showed up at my door. But it had to have been, right? That-that douchebag.”

“Do you want us to come see him with you?” Jehan asks, gently.

“It’s okay. I know you’re sick of hospitals.”

“I want to be there for you, though. And Gav.”

“It would-mean a lot. If you were there.” She says, shakily.

“We’ll both come.” Grantaire says, taking her hand. “Promise.”

 

Gavroche is a cool kid, Montparnasse tells himself. He's a cool kid.

It's getting harder and harder to remember this with each time Gav steals his wallet.

“Give it back.” He sighs without looking, holding out his hand.

“Took you almost a whole minute to realise that time. You're getting senile.” Gavroche teases.

“And you're a sneaky little shit.”

“Takes one to know one.” Gav replies, with a cheeky grin.

“Good thing you're already in a hospital bed, or I would've put you in one by now.”

“Nah, ponine’d kill you.” Montparnasse shudders. It's the truth. He's faced the wrath of Eponine twice, and neither of those times turned out well for him in the slightest.

The door opens then, Eponine storming in, and Montparnasse smirks.

“The devil herself. Were your ears burning?”

“You're a jackass.” She says almost absentmindedly, taking a seat beside Gavroche’s bed.

“Hey, Gav.” Grantaire says, a crooked smile on his face as he enters the room. “I brought like, a ton of markers, so if there's anything you want me to draw on your cast...”

“A knife!” Gav replies immediately, his face lighting up. “A huge one, with like, dripping blood!”

“I was thinking like, some flowers...” Grantaire glances at Eponine, who's glaring in a way that seems to suggest drawing a knife on her brother's cast would be the last thing he ever did.

“Aww, flowers aren't badass.” Gavroche whines.

“Says who?” Asks a familiar, melodic voice from the door. Montparnasse's head snaps to the side so fast he's sure he has whiplash. Sure enough, it's Jehan, in all their glory. Their hair is unbraided, flowing down their back, and their purple crop top shows off a thin strip of skin. They have a bellybutton piercing, something he's somehow never noticed before, and the tattoo on their hip is just visible above the corduroy they’re somehow rocking.

“Hi.” He says, dumbfounded.

“Hello, Parnasse. Fancy seeing you here.” They grin at him, and he somehow finds himself grinning back. It's an unnatural expression for him, and he quickly schools his features back into his customary look of indifference.

“Oh, I hang around in hospitals all the time, didn't you know?” H turns to Grantaire. “Have to admit, though, I could've gone the rest of my life without seeing your ugly mug again.”

“Love you too, Parnasse.” He snarks, not looking up from his handiwork on Gavroche's cast.

“You know, I'd like some water.” Jehan says after a moment. “If only I knew where anything was in this hospital...”

“I need some coffee at any rate, perhaps I can show you to the vending machine.” Montparnasse says, nonchalantly as possible.

“That would be lovely. Shall we?”

“After you.” He faintly hears Eponine snickering as he closes the door, but puts it out of his mind.

“Has he told you what happened yet?” Jehan asks, their grin dropping instantly. “Eponine doesn't even know, or she says she doesn't. He showed up at her door with a broken arm and wouldn't say what happened.”

“He hasn't told me, but three guesses who did it.” Montparnasse replies bitterly.

“Thenardier.” Jehan says, quietly.

“Weaselly bastard.” He mutters “Here's the vending machine.”

“I didn't really want any water.” They admit. “I just wanted to talk to you. About Gav, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He agrees. “It'll probably look pretty suspicious if you show up without some water, though.” Without waiting for an answer, he slides a dollar into the machine, and hands the water to them.

“Thank you.” They say, fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary. He clears his throat.

“We should, uh-we should get back.”

“Of course.” They agree, letting their hand drop. “Let's go.”


	10. Of stitches and sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The update literally nobody was waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE'S FAVORITE MURDEROUS BLUE HAIRED CHLD IS BACK! How I've missed Fauntleroy

“Hello, Jehan!” A nurse says cheerfully, spotting them outside Gavroche's room.

“Hi, Grace!” They reply, equally happy to see her. Montparnasse frowns in confusion, looking between them.

“How do you two-”

“Cmon, they're probably wondering where we got to!” Jehan says, pushing open the door without waiting for a reply. He follows, still dumbfounded.

“Took you two long enough.” Ep snarks.

“What'd you do, find a broom closet?” Grantaire asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Em elbows him sharply in the side.

“R.” She hisses, shooting a look at Gavroche.

“Ep, I'm not  _ five. _ ” Gavroche whines. “Jesus.”

“Language!” Grantaire, Ep, and Jehan all reproach in the same breath.

Montparnasse winks at him.

 

“-insufferable pissbaby!” Bizzaro shouts. Montparnasse steps into the flat warily, eyes scanning for any projectiles.

“Hey, back off from him.” Claquesous says.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you always take his side.”

“Nah, he's definitely an insufferable pissbaby-”

“Sous!”

“-but you need to chill your tits.”

“I will 'chill my tits’ once Gueulemer stops whining about his ribs for fucking attention and-!”

“What's going on here.” Fauntleroys voice is quiet, chilling, and it brings silence to the room immediately. Montparnasse doesn't even know where they came from, because they definitely weren't on that couch when he walked in the door. He takes a moment to survey the scene in front of him. Gueulemer, looking pale, is sat on one of the dining room chairs. Bizzaro and Claquesous are practically nose to nose, matching glares on their faces. They're probably both high and/or drunk off their asses, judging by the pervading smell of weed and booze in the air.

“Hey, Faunt.” Gueulemer says.

“Fuck off, Fauntleroy.” Bizzaro spits.

“Hmm, don't think I will. Unfortunately, I need you all alive and functioning. If you're not, then you're really of no use to me. And I'm quite sure that you'd kill each other left to your own devices.”

“Good idea.” Claquesous snarls. Suddenly, there's a knife in his hand. Before Montparnasse can say anything, Gueulemer's on his feet, standing between the two of them.

“Don’t.” He says, stumbling dangerously. “Sous, don't.” Slowly, Claquesous puts down the knife, still glaring daggers at Bizzaro. Montparnasse is in reach of Bizarro now, and he grabs her arm to pull her away. Most of the tension has diffused at this point, and just in time too. They all see it when Gueulemer's eyes roll up in his head, and he collapses on the carpet, revealing the bright red stain slowly making its way up his back.

“Gueulemer!" Claquesous shouts, dropping to his knees. “Gee?” Fauntleroy vaults over the table, crouching beside him.

“He moved too much, too fast. He’s ripped his stitches open. Quick, get him onto the table.” Montparnasse pulls the tablecloth, everything on the table crashing to the floor, as Claquesous lays Gueulemer on the table as gently as possible. “Get me the first aid kit.” Fauntleroy orders. “And then get the hell out.” 

“I-” Claquesous starts.

“Claquesous, do I need to remind you exactly what it was that caused him to rip his stitches? Because I seem to remember him stopping you from making an incredibly stupid decision.” Claquesous falls silent. “Get out and don’t even think about setting foot in this room again until you’re sober. Montparnasse, my phone.” He dials for Babet without them even having to ask, and puts it to their shoulder as Bizarro hands them the first aid kit. 

“Babet, my love.”

_ “What’s happening?” _

“I’m afraid there’s been a small problem. Gueulemer is bleeding out.”

_ “Shit. How?” _

“Oh, Claquesous and Bizarro attempted to murder each other, it’s all quite tedious really. Can you come over?”

_ “I’m on my way.” _

 

Claquesous is pacing up and down, still clearly mad about his exile to the bedroom.

“Stop it.” Bizarro sighs. “That’s so  _ annoying. _ ”

“Shut up, this is  _ your fault. _ ”

“Yes, it’s  _ my fault _ that you pulled a knife on me.”

“It is.”

“Oh, please. Just because I insulted your boyfriend-”

“ _ He’s not my fucking boyfriend. _ ”

“You want him to be, though. Don’t even deny it.”

“I don’t-” Claquesous accentuates each word with a kick to the wall. “Want him-to be my-fucking boyfriend.”

“Well you definitely ain't just friends. And speaking of friends, Montparnasse, who’s that redhead I keep seeing in your bed?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“I’m starting to see why he pulled a knife on you.” Montparnasse deadpans. Fauntleroy appears in the door, then, and the three fall silent.

“Luckily for you, you managed not to kill him.” They say, an edge to their voice. “I don’t care if you all murder each other, really, but Babet does. He’s rather angry about it. All four of you are going to stay here for the next month. Until you can work like the team you supposedly are, the team we  _ pay you _ to be, you can rot in hell for all I care.” Their eyes are flashing with anger, and even Bizarro doesn’t challenge them. 

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Claquesous asks, voice shaking. Montparnasse can practically see the moment they decide to take pity on him.

“He’ll be fine.” And then, because they wouldn’t be Fauntleroy otherwise, they add “No thanks to you.” Claquesous ducks his head in shame as they leave. All three of them hear the front door slam.

“I’m gonna go check on Gee.” He says, eventually, breaking the tense silence. Montparnasse and Bizarro watch him go, his shoulders hunched.

  
  


Gueulemer wakes slowly. Everything hurts, but  _ especially _ his back. He’s pretty sure someone decided to jab a hot poker into him-it’s the only explanation.

“Gee?” He opens his eyes, to see Claquesous sitting there. “Hey.” He sounds relieved. “Guess I won’t kick Fauntleroy’s ass after all.”

“They’d murder you.” Gueulemer tells him, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t I know it.” Claquesous agrees, ruefully. “Here, uh-let me help you up.” He grabs Gueulemers arm, helping him to a sitting position. “I figured you might want a shirt.” Claquesous is holding a shirt Gee’s seen several times, a soft gray shirt that’s probably at least a size or two too big. It’s Claquesous’s shirt. Claquesous is giving him his shirt?

He takes the shirt from him and pulls it over his head, hissing in pain when it stretches his lower back. 

“Fauntleroy will be pissed if you rip those again.”  Claquesous warns him.

“Heaven forbid I face the wrath of Fauntleroy.”

“Dude, you have no idea. They ripped me a new one.” He shakes his head. “Oh, they gave me these painkillers. Well. They left them, here, at any rate. But I’m assuming they’re for you.” Gueulemer grabs the bottle from him, dumping three or four into his hand, and swallows them dry. “Come on, you should lie down. If you even can, what with all the shit you have piled on your bed.”


	11. Of machines and medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this ones a doozy. I look forward to your yelling in the comments. Warnings are in the end notes!

Jehan watches as the typing bubble appears next to Montparnasse’s name.  _ Send it,  _ they silently will him.  _ Please send it. _

He doesn’t send it. The bubble disappears, and Montparnasse goes offline. With a sigh, they toss their phone onto the bed, and bury their face in a pillow.

They’ve got a killer headache. It’s been there all morning, a throbbing ache right in the center of their head. And it’s only gotten worse as the day’s gone on, no matter how many painkillers they take.

“Knock knock.” Grantaire says, from the door of Jehan’s bedroom. “Any reason you’re laying in the dark?”

“Headache.” They mumble. His voice is careful, measured, when he speaks next.

“Maybe you should-”

“No.” They say. “No, no, I’m not going to the doctor, I’m  _ fine. _ ”

“Are you sure?” He asks, gently. They can feel the tears stinging their eyes, the lump in their throat, as they whisper

“No.” 

 

**_MemeFucker has started a chat with Mothmom_ **

**MemeFucker: hey**

**MemeFucker: Jehan isnt feeling great but they wont go to the hospital**

**Mothmom: What’s the problem? Any symptoms?**

**MemeFucker: Nausea and headache, but there could be more they arent telling me about**

**Mothmom: Make sure they’re properly fed and get some water in them. Knowing Jehan, it could be as simple as dehydration or skipping breakfast**

**MemeFucker: thanks ferre**

**Mothmom: Tell them to be well**

**Mothmom: And I know they won’t listen, but can you remind them that they really should go see Dr Markinson?**

**MemeFucker: I’ll tell them**

  
  


“Can you two seriously not go  _ one day _ without trying to murder each other?” Montparnasse asks, bored.

“He is  _ not _ going to beat me!” Bizarro grits her teeth, her fingers flying over the controls.

“Face it, Biz. I’m the master of this game.” Claquesous grins.

“You motherfucker, was that-Hey! He just  _ blue-shelled me! _ ”

“Watch out for that banana peel.” Gueulemer says, half heartedly, even as Claquesous’s car slips on it. 

“ _ Shit. _ No, no, no-” Sous cries.

“Eat my dust, sous!”  Bizarro’s car coasts over the finish line, as she takes first place for the fifth time that night..

“Ha!” She high fives Gueulemer, as Claquesous hands Montparnasse the remote.

“You know the rules.”

“I’m gonna crush you, Biz.” He warns.

“Bring it on.”

 

“I am definitely not telling Ferre that.”

“What? Just because I said that he could shove his doctors appointments up his-”

“Yeah. I heard you the first time. Look, just drink the water? It’ll make Ferre get off your case, at least.”

“No, it really won’t...but fine.” They’re shaking as they stand to take the glass from him and it doesn’t escape Grantaire’s gaze.

“Jehan?” He asks, tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” They tell him, weakly. “Nothing wrong, I promise.” There’s a long second of silence, broken by the glass shattering on the floor, as Jehan collapses.

“Oh, shit,  _ Jehan _ !”

 

**Eponine: get to the hospital right now room 304**

**Montparnasse: Did something happen? Are you okay?**

**Eponine: not me**

**Eponine: Jehan**

 

“I need-I-A visitors pass.” Montparnasse gasps, winded from his sprint to the hospital. The nurse barely glances up.

“Name?” She asks, bored.

“Montparnasse. I’m here to see Jehan. Jehan Prouvaire.” She presses a button, and a sticker prints out.

“Room 304.” He takes off, not bothering to thank her. The elevator is slow, too slow, so he chooses the stairs instead, taking them two at a time. It’s only when he gets to room 304 that he pauses. Steeling himself, he raises his fist, and knocks once. There’s a long pause, filled with tension, and then the door opens. It’s Eponine, her face drawn, and the bags under her eyes more prominent than ever. 

“Where are they?” He asks. She pulls the door all the way open, to reveal Jehan, sat in the hospital bed. They look pale, their face drawn and tired, but their face lights up when they see him in a way that makes his throat ache.

“Hey.”

“Jehan.” He manages. “What…how…” Their face falls.

“We need to talk.” He sits next to them, taking their hand.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I have cancer.” 

 

He waits. He waits until they’ve explained, until they’ve told him about the first tumor, about the surgery and the chemo and the radiation. And the second tumor, which brought the same process over again. And the waiting, seven years of it, and how they thought the tumors were gone. They thought they’d beaten it for good.

“Where-” He clears his throat. “Where is it this time?”   
“It’s-it’s in my brain.” They shake their head. “Inoperable. Even with radiation, and chemo-I’ve got a year. If I’m lucky.”

_ Lucky. _ The word echoes in his mind, occupying his every thought. How can a  _ year _ be lucky? Jehan, beautiful Jehan, deserves so much longer than that. They deserve another hundred years, another thousand, another-

He can’t bear to think about it.

“And how do they already know this?”

“They did the tests two days ago. When I was first admitted. I didn’t even want to go because I was  _ so sure _ it would be nothing. I...I really wanted it to be nothing. I was so  _ scared... _ ” He glances around the room, looking for something,  _ anything, _ that could be a distraction, and he finds it in the absence of a familiar face.

“Where’s Ponine?”

“She’s in the hallway. I’m supposed to pretend I don’t know she’s crying.”

“You suck at pretending.” Ep calls, her voice wavering.

“Sorry, Ep!” They reply. “I mean she’s getting a water. Very stoically. No tears or emotions involved.” Montparnasse shakes his head.

“God. Jehan, I’m...” He trails off. He can’t wrap his head around it. He can’t imagine them gone, can’t imagine their smile gone from the world forever, never seeing the twinkle in their eyes again, or hearing their beautiful laugh-   
Oh shit. Oh  _ shit. _ He’s in love with them. He’s in love with a person that was never supposed to be anything more than a one night stand.

He’s in love with a person that has a year to live. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for hospitals, hospital related things, talk of death and dying


	12. of tears and tentative touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry??  
> (not really though lmfaoooo)

He makes his exit once Jehan’s asleep, once their fingers are limp in his, their other hand rested on his chest.  _ They’d traced their hands over his chest, marvelling at the two symmetrical scars, their nimble fingers lightly skimming his skin, traveling down, down, down- _

He steals out of the room, and finds himself headed to Claquesous’s apartment. He debates turning around, but he can’t think of where else to go-his own apartment is filled with memories of Jehan-them sleeping on his bed, showing up at his door half past two in the morning, wine saturated kisses in a candle filled living room. So instead, he steps inside Claquesous’s apartment, not even bothering to knock.

“What do you have.” He asks, spotting Sous stretched out on the couch like an enormous, lanky cat.

“Nothing.” Sous replies, pausing the show.

“You know I don’t believe you. You’ve always got something hidden away.”

“What, you think I keep heroin stashed underneath my mattress? I’m telling you, nothing.”

“You’ve gotta have  _ something. _ ” He’s aware that he sounds desperate, out of control, but he can’t help it. Sous looks up for the first time, spotting Montparnasse’s face, and immediately grimaces.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, fuck off.”

“Something happened. What, someone on the street harass you? Did you take care of them?”

“Shut up.”

“Was it something to do with that ‘friend’ of yours?”

“ _ Shut the fuck up! _ ” He kicks over the endtable, and the lamp resting on it comes crashing down. The lightbulb shatters, plunging the room into near darkness. The only light comes from the TV, casting a faint blue glow over his features. Even so, Claquesous sees his face crumple.

“What was that?” Gee asks, sticking his head out of the kitchen with a mouth still full of chips. 

“Get the fuck out.” Montparnasse grumbles. He’s well aware that he doesn’t have his face under control, that his eyes are burning suspiciously, and his lip is wobbling, and there’s a lump in his throat he can’t swallow. But he doesn’t need to admit that. 

“Are-are you fucking  _ crying _ ?” Gueulemer asks, shocked. “Dude, what the fuck?” 

“M’not.” Montparnasse spits out through gritted teeth, his chest heaving. 

“Parnasse, it’s...it’s okay.” Claquesous says cautiously. 

“They-” He’s struggling to breathe, struggling to get any words out. “Jehan.  _ Jehan.”  _ Guelemers hand is on his shoulder, warm and solid and comforting. He sinks to his knees. “They’ve got a year.” His breathing is ragged, unsteady. “They’ve got a year to live.” He hears Claquesous inhale sharply.

“Oh.”

“Who’s Jehan?” Gueulemer asks, his voice softer than Parnasse has ever heard it.

“They have red hair, and-and freckles like stars, and they hate pinot grigio, and they’ve seen The Princess Bride hundreds of times, and they have a scar on their leg from falling off a swing, and their favorite color is yellow, and they always smell like coconuts and cinnamon. They have the most  _ atrocious  _ fashion sense.” He attempts a laugh, a mangled and broken sound, but somehow it turns into a sob.

  
  


“This won’t do.” Courfeyrac says, clucking his tongue. “Those sheets are so-nevermind, I’ve found the one thing worse than the sheets. Ferre, look at this. Look at these  _ curtains. _ They deserve to be burned.” Jehan smiles fondly at him.

“Not to worry, I won’t be here too long. I get discharged tomorrow.” Courfeyrac’s smile wavers.

“Right.” He manages. “Well, you’ve already surv-you’ve already gone through one day in these horrible conditions, I suppose one more night won’t hurt.” He glares at the curtains as though personally offended by them, and Combeferre smirks.

“I doubt the patients are concerned with their curtains. Most of them are terminal.” He winces. “I mean-”

“Guys, it’s okay. I’m terminal. You don’t have to-tiptoe around it, or whatever.” They look down, twisting the sheets in their hands. “Just, uh-how’s the wedding planning going?”

“It’s going well.” Courf smiles. “Except for the fact that it’s a  _ disaster. _ ”

“Oh no.” Jehan says, a hint of a smile in their voice. “What’s happened?”

“Jehan, you wouldn’t believe it. The bakery we wanted to do our cake? Turns out they’re homophobic and refuse to do a cake for a gay couple.”

“Does Enj know?”

“Oh, he’s already planning a boycott and several protests.” Combeferre sighs. “The man never rests.”

“Did I miss anything at yesterday’s meeting?” 

“Um...” Combeferre looks away. “Not much.”

“We talked about you.” Courfeyrac blurts. Jehan winces.

“Oh god. Does everyone know?”

“Yeah...” Combeferre suddenly looks much older than his twenty four years. “We’re all very worried. JBM is coming by later, after Joly gets off work. And I know Cosette is coming over soon. She says she’s going to sneak you in some brownies.”

“Oh, good, I  _ love _ Cosette’s brownies.” 

“Who doesn’t?” Courf interjects, grinning. “I’m gonna ask her to save me some.”

“Feuilly said they’ll come around sometime tonight, once they’re done at the animal shelter.” Combeferre says.

“And I know that Taire is planning on coming back tonight too.” Courfeyrac attempts to smile. “He’s, uh...he’s not in the best place though.” Combeferre elbows him in the side. 

“Courf.” He hisses.

“What?” Courfeyrac replies under his breath. “I was just  _ warning _ them-”

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Combeferre asks. “It looks like we’ve got to go, so sorry, I’ve got a lecture to get to.”

“Of course.” Jehan says, confused. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure. Bye, Jehan, love you!” Courf calls, even as Combeferre all but drags him out the door.

 

**Gueulemer: where are you**

**Bizarro: im at the park**

**Bizarro: why**

**Geuelemer: get back here we don’t know how to handle this**

**Gueulemer: that person that parnasse is sleeping with is gonna die apparently**

**Bizarro: shit dude idk how to handle that?? call Babet he’s a dad he’ll know**

  
  


**Gueulemer: get over here parnasse is in a bad place**

**Babet: So? He can’t deal with it on his own?**

**Gueulemer: he was literally crying he didn’t even cry when he got stabbed**

**Babet: I’ll be right over.**

 


	13. Of pleading and panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this is late but.....smh I don't have an excuse. Can life be my excuse????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-talk of death and dying (I think that should be it? let me know if I missed something)

Grantaire stumbles into Jehan’s hospital room at two in the morning, his eyes red and swollen and his cheeks tearstained.

“Grantaire?” They yawn, sitting up instantly. “Taire, what's wrong?” 

“Jehan-” He manages, a strangled sound in the back of his throat. They reach out their arms to him, and he falls into them with a sob.

“Shhh.” They murmur, running their hands through his soft curls. “It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay.” 

“S’not okay.” He manages, even s he curls himself around them. “S’ _ not. _ ” He buries his head in their shoulder, and they rub his back gently.

“Shhhh. It's okay, it's okay, everything's okay.”

 

Babet enters without knocking, greeting Claquesous at the door.

“Where is he?” He asks.

“His room.” Claquesous replies, still looking like he's seen a ghost. “Just...

Be careful. If you'd seen him earlier...” He shakes his head, not looking into Babet’s eyes. Babet nods once, curtly, and then walks off without a word. He pauses almost imperceptibly before opening Montparnasse’s door. He swears, turning on his heel, and kicks the door shut.

“Window’s open and he's gone. Fucking bastard must've climbed out the window.” Claqesous jumps up, immediately on high alert.

“I'll get Biz and Mer, you get Faunt .” The two split up, Babet leaving through the front door and Claquesous making for Gueulemer's bedroom.

 

**Claquesous: where the fuck did you go**

**Claquesous: this is bullshit at least call us before you jump off a bridge or something**

**Claquesous: seriously dude come on even Faunt is worried**

 

Montparnasse drops his cigarette, the sand under his feet putting it out for him. The waves are peaceful and calming, almost relaxing. If he focuses on that, if he just listens to the sounds of the surf, then he can ignore the anguish that seems to be carving a hole in his chest.

“What are you doing here?” A voice behind him asks, soft but unmistakeable. 

“Oh fearless leader, with your permission, kindly fuck off.” He mocks.

“Eponine is concerned. Apparently, climbing out your window rather worried your flatmates.” Enj says, watching the surf with an intensity to match his own. 

“Whatever.” A moment passes in silence, before Montparnasse asks the obvious question. “How'd you know I'd be here?” Enj shrugs, crossing his arms as if it will ward off the chill of the sea breeze.

“You haven't changed much since childhood. Remember when we used to come here every night?” Montparnasse does remember, he remembers it well, but he's not going to give Enj the satisfaction. 

“I'd like to think I've changed a lot.”

“Physically, sure. But I think you're still the same scared little kid who ran a mile from home and climbed through my window because he was scared of the thunder.” That stings, far more than Montparnasse is willing to admit. Enjolras turns to him, meeting his eyes. “This isn't something you can run from Montparnasse. We're all scared. Hell, I'm terrified.” He laughs, a bitter, world weary sound that Montparnasse has never heard from him. “But that doesn't matter. Right now, Jehan matters.” For the first time, Montparnasse thinks he maybe understands how Enjolras can get entire crowds to rally behind him, how he can captivate a room with nothing but his convictions and his passionate words.

“I know.” Montparnasse says around the lump in his throat. “Fuck you, you don't think I know that?”

“You don't get to run.” Enjolras tells him, not breaking their eye contact. “It would break Jehan's heart.” His voice cracks with emotion. “They deserve to be happy. I just-” He shakes his head. “They deserve to be happy until-until the end.”

 

Jehan is tugging a brush through their hair absentmindedly as Joly speaks with them.

“So as you can see, the chemo and radiation will increase your odds from-”

“Joly.” Jehan says, their voice soft but firm. “I'm not doing it.” Joly bites his lip, looking down.

“So I'd heard. But-”

“I still remember last time.” They tell him. “I still remember how horrible it was. I'm terminal, Joly, and I'm not going to spend my last months trapped in this bed in agonizing pain.” They take his hand, smiling at him. “It's okay, dear Joly.”

“Okay.” He sniffs. “If you say so, Jehan. They're uh-they’re releasing you soon. You should get ready.” With a shake of his head, he exits the room, leaning heavily on his cane. 

 

Jehan slips off their shoes at the door and closes it behind them. Leaning against it for a moment, they let out a sigh. They love their friends, of course they do, and they couldn’t imagine better ones...But still. A moment of privacy would be nice, a moment alone. A moment to think about what’s happened. A moment to remember that  _ holy shit, they’re going to die.  _ They feel the panic start inside their chest, like an iron band around their lungs.  _ Deep breaths, Jehan. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t- _

A noise in their hallway startles them, snapping them back into the present. Grabbing their umbrella from its place beside the door, they brandish it like a baseball bat and step towards the hall.   
“Who’s there?” They call, their voice echoing through the silent apartment. “You’d better come out!” Footsteps, now, coming closer. A figure steps out of the shadows, with a cocky grin Jehan would recognize anywhere. “Montparnasse.” They breathe, dropping the umbrella. “I-how did you get in?”

“Apparently, Grantaire didn’t think to lock the door. Understandable, of course, but still not the smartest course of action.” 

“And your solution was to come into my apartment,  _ without my permission, _ and scare me half to death?” 

“I meant to bring you your coat, and some warmer clothes. It was cold outside. I guess I didn’t realize you’d be getting out so soon.” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. Jehan suddenly realizes just how cold they are, their thin t-shirt doing nothing to protect them from the cold. There are goosebumps peppering their arms.

“You’re right, it’s  _ freezing. _ ” They admit, the last of their anger dissipating. They’d like nothing more than a warm shower, but it would be unspeakably rude, with Montparnasse over. 

“Why don’t you go run yourself a bath, or a shower? I don’t know. Something. I can make you some tea?” Jehan’s never seen him this awkward, this unsure, and they really ought to feel bad about how much it delights them.

“Okay.” They say, laughing quietly. “I’ll go have a shower. The kettle’s right on the stove.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie...this physically hurt to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of past drug use, talk of suicide, and suicidal thoughts/ideation.  
> (let me know if I missed anything)

When Jehan exits the shower, they can faintly hear the sounds of Montparnasse swearing in the kitchen. They wrap their hair in the towel, and pad barefoot down the hall to where Parnasse is glaring at the kettle like it’s insulted his mother.

“Everything okay?” They ask, leaning against the doorway. He looks up from his injured hand, startled.

“Fine. Everything’s good. Except that your kettle tried to  _ kill me. _ ”

“Surely it’s just a burn.”

“Just?  _ Just? _ I am in  _ agony. _ ” 

“Okay, drama queen.” Jehan smiles. “Let me see it.” They both know he’s not really as hurt as he’s letting on, but he shows them his hand anyway, and they gently press their lips to the burn.

“There, better?”

“I’ll survive.” Montparnasse sighs. Not letting go of his hand, they look up at him. He can’t read their expression.

“Why are you here, Montparnasse?” They ask, softly. “What do you want?” He knows what he  _ should _ say. He should make it into a sex thing, make it into something meaningless and shallow, the way they always do. That’s the unspoken agreement between them. 

But he can’t do that. Not after what he knows now, not after everything that’s happened in the past day. He pulls their hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the knuckles, not breaking their gaze.

“You. Always.” They pull away, and turn towards the table, their back facing Montparnasse.

“You should go.” They say. “Please.” He nods once, cursing his own stupidity, and leaves quietly.

He doesn’t see the sobs shaking Jehan’s shoulders. 

  
  


Jehan is dancing when Grantaire finally works up the nerve to come home. Their hair is tied up in a messy bun, and their pajama bottoms barely reach their ankles.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his gaze falling to their bare feet. They’re gliding across the floor with such ease, it’s almost magical. Where an ordinary person would trip or stumble, they only go faster.

“Dancing.” They say, slightly breathless.

There are two reasons why Jehan dances. The first is if they’re ecstatic, and their body simply can’t contain their joy. This is always fun to see, almost as fun as when they drag him along with them.

The second is...less pleasant. Sometimes, when Jehan is feeling angry, or upset, they take to dance. It’s definitely a more healthy alternative than most of his coping mechanisms, and a constructive way for them to let out their frustrations, but it doesn’t mean Grantaire is pleased to see it. Jehan is meant to take joy in dance, to tip their head back in laughter and let their unbraided hair swirl around them, they’re meant to leap and twirl and feel  _ free. _ This isn’t free. It’s almost a horrible sight, their moves too fast and frantic, their hands lashing out as if to hit someone. If it weren’t so strangely beautiful, it would be terrifying. 

The music eventually stops, but neither of them notice until Jehan sits down hard on the floor, looking positively drained.

“Feeling better?” Grantaire asks.

“No.” They reply, drawing their knees up to their chest. “Turn on the TV. I wanna watch sitcom reruns until my eyes bleed.” He does so without a word, and then sits down next to them on the floor as they let their hair loose, falling forward to cover their face. Neither of them speaks. Neither of them has to.

 

**_Enjolras has started a chat with Mothmom, Courfgayrac, and Memefucker_ **

**Enjolras: I saw Montparnasse yesterday.**

**Enjolras: He was at the beach we used to go to as children.**

**Courfgayrac: wtf was he doing at the beach, wasnt he worried the sun would ruin his perfect skin?**

**Courfgayrac: btw have you guys noticed that he has really nice skin bc its really fucking unfair**

**Enjolras: I think he’s trying to run from this. As much as I don’t like it, if he leaves it will definitely hurt Jehan.**

**Memefucker: we cant keep him here if he doesnt want to be here**

**Memefucker: like i get that youre worried about jehan, but its unfair to place their mental health solely on him.**

**Enjolras: Of course, that’s not what I’m doing.**

**Enjolras: I just told him that if he cares at all about Jehan, he’ll stay.**

**Memefucker: jfc enj**

**Memefucker: way to guilt trip the dude**

**Memefucker: and anyway they’re not even in a relationship**

**Mothmom: No, but it’s pretty obvious that they care about each other.**

**Memefucker: have u guys even thought about how jehan feels about this? maybe they dont want him to stay**

**Enjolras: Why wouldn’t they want him to stay?**

**Memefucker: very few people want to start up a relationship if theyre going to die in a few months and we all know that’s where theyll end up**

**Memefucker: he was here earlier, left his jacket. it obviously upset jehan somehow because he wasnt here when i got home and jehan was dancing**

**Courfgayrac: oh shit the angry dancing?**

**Memefucker: yee**

**Courfgayrac: jksjgjhks that’s not good**

**Memefucker: yeah tell me about it**

 

“Oh, look who’s finally home.”

Bizarro’s voice is sharp and biting, her eyes bear the telltale bags of someone who’s been up all night, and he decides he’s  _ not _ in the mood to deal with her right now.

“Piss off.”

“Gee was pretty convinced you were about to put a bullet through your skull, you know.”   


“Whatever.”

“Even Faunt came by.” This catches his attention.

“Faunt was here?”

“Oh yeah. They tried to trace your phone.”

“Dead.”

“Yeah, we know that  _ now. _ ” Her voice is shaking with anger, he realises. “What the  _ hell. _ You worried all of them, you fucking asshole.” 

“I’m not in the mood for a fucking guilt trip, Biz. Already got one from the  _ Fearless Leader _ of les amis.”

“Too fucking bad, you’re getting another one. We had no idea where you were, or what you were doing, or what had happened. Sous thought you’d relapsed, Gee thought you were suicidal, Babet thought you’d been  _ kidnapped. _ ”

“Babet’s paranoid.”

“I’m wasting my breath.” Her voice is dripping with malice. “I told them you were off somewhere being a selfish asshole. I told them they were worried for no reason. I wish you  _ had _ fucking jumped off a bridge.”

“Yeah?” He’s on his feet now, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails are leaving marks. “Well, so do I, so  _ join the fucking club. _ ” He slams his bedroom door behind him, leaving Bizarro speechless.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh why do i make my children suffer

“Hey!” Jehan’s voice is falsely cheerful, even over the phone, and Courfeyrac winces.

“Hey, Jehan! What’s up?” He asks.

“Oh, not much. I was just wondering how the wedding planning was coming along!”

“It’s going great!” He replies happily. “Cosette is making our cake, she’s incredibly happy about it, and the musain is going to cater for us-courtesy of Chetta, of course.”

“I thought the musain didn’t cater?”

“Oh, they don’t. But heaven help anybody who tries to get in Musichetta’s way.”

“True enough.” Jehan is silent for a long moment, long enough to make Courfeyrac worried. At last, they ask “So...when is it going to be?” The question is fraught with implication and fear, and suddenly Courf can barely speak around the lump in his throat.

“It’s, uh, it’s in three months. July 23rd. You’ll make it.”

“Okay.”  Jehan says.

“You better make it-if I have to have my wedding without one of my closest friends there, I will be royally pissed, Jehan Prouvaire.”

“I’ll be there.” Jehan promises.

 

When Montparnasse first hears the knocking at his window, he thinks he’s imagining it. But no, a flash of red appears, and then a pair of eyes staring at him.

“Jehan?” He says, disbelieving.

“It’s  _ cold _ out here.” Comes their impatient reply. He opens the window, and Jehan clambers through with ease, landing lightly on the floor. 

“I do have a door, you know.”

“I wasn’t sure if you had anybody over.” Jehan says with a shrug. “And I wanted you all to myself.” Montparnasse gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. So that’s it, then, that’s why they’re here. 

“Jehan-” They step forward and kiss him fiercely, intensely enough that he stumbles backwards. Jehan makes a noise of pain when they separate, but Montparnasse shakes his head.

“I can’t. Not right now, Jehan. I can’t.” They nod, looking away, and he winces. “What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing.” They say. “Absolutely nothing’s wrong. I’m just so happy, happy, happy, all the fucking time, can’t you tell? I mean, sure, I’m dying. But so what, right? So what? It’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. It’s not like me dying is going to change anything. So why am I so fucking terrified? I’ve never been scared of death before, Montparnasse!” They throw their hands in the air, frustrated. “I used to think about it, all the time, and I was never scared, but now, now that I don’t have a fucking  _ choice, _ now I’m terrified? Now I’m going to turn into some-some sobbing mess just because I’m dying?” They shake their head, eyes furious. “I won’t fucking do it, I won’t spend what’s left of my time falling apart.”

“Nobody said you had to, Jehan.” Montparnasse says, weakly. They’re scaring him, with their talk of death. He’d taken the fact that they could have a year for granted, assumed they would have all that time together. He hadn’t taken into account that it could be considerably less, especially if Jehan had a say in it. Jehan sits down heavily on his floor, drawing their knees up to their chin.

“I won’t.” They say, but it sounds less convincing this time.

“Okay.” He replies, sitting down next to them. “Okay.”

 

They sleep in his bed that night, their brow furrowed and their movements restless, even in sleep. He watches them, for a long time. He keeps telling himself that this is how they will look, when it is all over, when they die, but it’s not the truth. Because even now, occasionally a murmur will slip from their mouth, or they’ll move their hand, or their expression will change. He can see the rise and fall of their chest as they breathe, and he can’t imagine it ever stopping. 

There’s a knock at his door, and even before he answers it he knows it’s Claquesous. Claquesous stares at him for a long moment, almost as if making sure he’s real, and Montparnasse meets his gaze. It comes as a complete shock when Claquesous launches himself forward to put his arms around Montparnasse’s shoulders, drawing in a shaky breath.

“If you ever _ -” _ He says, pulling away-”and I mean  _ ever, _ do that again, I’ll kill you. Got it?” Montparnasse nods mutely, as Claquesous turns to go. “You might want to let Gee know you’re okay.”

“I will.” There’s a long moment of quiet as Montparnasse stares after Claquesous’s retreating form, and then he steps back into the bedroom and closes the door.

 

When he wakes the next morning, Jehan is gone, as they so often are. But there’s a folded note on his pillow, torn from one of the notebooks on his desk.

 

_ I want to formerly apologize for my outburst last night. _ He imagines their mouth quirking up at this line, probably thinking that ‘outburst’ is an understatement.  _ It was uncalled for, and you shouldn’t’ve been subjected to that. Nevertheless…I’m glad you were there. I sometimes feel as if I can’t say anything in front of my friends, because I’m too worried about upsetting them, but I’ve never felt like that with you.  _ He can practically see them nervously twisting their hair around their fingers as they admit this. 

_ But I don’t think we should keep doing this. It’s incredibly stupid to form a bond with someone who is going to die so soon, and I really don’t want to hurt you. _

_ Please understand why I have to stay away, Parnasse. I’m sorry. It’ll be easier for both of us. _

_ JEHAN  _

Even just the sight of their signature, scrawled in all caps as usual, brings a lump to his throat. He focuses on the loops of their g’s, the swirl of their r’s, because if he doesn’t he’ll have to think about what the words mean, what Jehan is actually saying, and he can’t do that. He refuses to accept that he won’t be able to see Jehan anymore. Over the time they’ve known each other, Jehan has already become scarily intertwined in his life, and he isn’t willing to lose that. 

He does wonder at the irony of them saying they don’t want to hurt him, because what do they imagine this letter will do, if not hurt him?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW TW TW TW TW TW TW TW TW TW TW TW  
> Violence, l o t s of suicidal ideation, and talk of death and dying. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE stay safe

Jehan is abnormally cheerful, Grantaire thinks. Even for them. They’re practically skipping around the musain, face bright and smiling, greeting everybody in their path. They stumble in their steps, nearly falling, and quickly look around to make sure nobody’s seen it. 

But Grantaire sees it, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Eponine!” Jehan cries, bounding forward to hug her. “Oh my gosh, have I told you yet today that I love you?”

“No, not today.” Ep laughs. “I love you too.”

“How’s Gav’s arm?”

“Still healing. He’s pissed at me for not letting him ride his bike until his cast comes off.”

“Poor kid.” They sigh. “Courf! My bestest, most darling theatre major!” They skip away, skirt flowing around their legs.

 

Montparnasse stalks away from the scene, cursing under his breath. That had been close, too close for his liking.

“What the hell is with you?” Claquesous asks, catching up to him easily. “You just beat the shit out of that guy.”

“He deserved it.”

“He bumped into you.”

“He was fucking trying to steal from me, Sous.”

“Yeah, well, show me some proof of that. You’re just pissed because of Jehan.” Montparnasse doesn’t say anything. “Jesus, why are you such an  _ asshole? _ ” 

“Shut the fuck up, Sous.” Montparnasse mutters.

“No, I-” Montparnasse grabs his wrist and pins him against the wall. Claquesous could easily break free, run away, but he doesn’t. He looks more pissed off than scared, if Montparnasse is being honest. 

“I  _ said. _ Shut the fuck up.” He releases Claquesous, who stalks ahead of him without a word.

 

“Well, I’m tired.” Jehan says, stifling a yawn. “Anybody mind if I head home early?”

“Not at all.” Enjolras replies, giving them a smile. “Please, go rest.” 

“Thank you, Enjolras.” They look around the room, smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach their eyes. “I-I love you all.” They say, softly. “Goodbye, my friends.” They turn and walk out the door, closing it behind them, and there’s a long moment of silence.

“That was weird, right?” Courfeyrac says eventually. “It’s not just me?”

“No, Jehan was definitely acting kinda off.” Ep says. “They gave me this bracelet, said they hoped it reminded them of me.”

“What? They gave me a ring.” Courf says.

“They gave me a necklace.” Cosette says, pulling it out of her pocket.

“Why would they-” Grantaire’s heart leaps into his throat, and he jumps up. “Oh my god.” He says. “Oh my god. They aren’t planning on coming back. I think-I think they’re going to kill themself.” Without further hesitation, he runs out the door after them.

  
  


“They won’t answer.” Eponine says, frustrated. “Why won’t they answer the fucking  _ phone. _ ” 

Cosette’s phone starts ringing, then, and she picks it up immediately, putting it on speaker.

“Did you find them?” She asks, breathlessly.

“They’re not at home.” Grantaire says, defeated. “I don’t know where they went.”

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Eponine curses, because what else can she say? What else is there? “I’m calling Montparnasse.” She decides, on a whim. “He might know.”

 

Montparnasse is lying listlessly in bed when the phone rings. There’s still blood on his shirt, on his knuckles, that he hasn’t washed off from earlier that day.

“What.” He says, flatly. “What the fuck do you want, Eponine.”

“It’s Jehan.” She says, her voice frantic and high pitched. “We can’t find them, we think they’re going to kill themself, you have to help.” 

He’s out of bed before he even realises it, and at his bedroom door within seconds. 

“I’ll find them.” He promises, and hangs up the call. 

Claquesous is in the living room. He looks up when he hears Montparnasse’s footsteps, but he doesn’t say anything.    
Montparnasse slams the door behind him.

 

Jehan is staring out at the river, their knees drawn up to their chest. They don’t move an inch when Montparnasse sits down beside them, not even to look at him.

“It’s so beautiful here.” They tell him, after a moment. “The flowers bloom every spring, and the cherry blossoms come out. It’s lovely. You should see it at sunset.”

“Care to explain what the gun is for?” He asks, quietly. 

“I couldn’t do it.” They whisper. “I chose the place, said goodbye to everyone, I had everything all planned out. But I couldn’t follow through.” They shake their head. “I wanted-I wanted to die somewhere pretty. After I’d said my goodbyes, told everyone what they meant to me. I wanted to be among the flowers, and the river, and the sunset. I wanted to chose how I was going to-” Their voice breaks, and they start sobbing without any warning. “I don’t want to die.” They tell him. “I don’t want to die, I don’t, I’m so  _ scared. _ ” Montparnasse wraps an arm around their shoulder, and they turn to bury their face in his chest. “I’m scared.” They whimper. 

“I know.” He says, as softly as he can. “I know.” 

 

**Montparnasse: found them**

**Grantaire: please tell me its good news**

**Montparnasse: shaken but fine**

**Grantaire: thank fuck**

 

“Montparnasse found them. They’re okay.” He says, to general sighs of relief. 

“Oh my god.” Eponine breathes, collapsing into her chair. “Jesus.”

“Thank god.” Courfeyrac says, turning to wrap his arms tightly around Combeferre. “Oh my god, we could’ve-they could’ve-” He lets out a shuddering sob, as Combeferre strokes his hair gently.

“Hey, they’re okay, they’re okay.” He murmurs. “Everything is okay now, Courf.” 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks. He looks as white as a sheet, like the enormity of the situation is just dawning on him.

“We could’ve lost Jehan.” He breathes. “Oh my god.” Grantaire puts a hand on his shoulder, and Enj takes it in his own hand, intertwining their fingers. Eponine wraps her arm around Cosette’s waist, and Cosette rests a hand on Eponine’s head. For a moment, with everyone taking comfort in each other, it’s okay. For a moment, everything is fine.

  
  


Every ami is waiting at Jehan’s house when they get home, leaning on Montparnasse. The room is silent, and Jehan looks around with trepidation, apparently dreading what they’re going to say.

“How could you do that to us, Jehan?” Grantaire says, at last.

“Taire-” Eponine starts.

“No. You didn’t say anything, didn’t warn us. You were going to go off and fucking  _ kill yourself _ without even saying anything. How the fuck could you do that to us?” 

“That’s enough.” Montparnasse says, face morphing into a glare. 

“They almost-” His voice cuts off, and Jehan can see the tears glistening in his eyes. “God, Jehan, we almost lost you.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jehan says. “I didn’t think-I guess I didn’t realize you’d be so upset.” The room falls into a heavy silence, everyone digesting these words. Montparnasse gapes, turning to them. 

“Jehan.” Eponine says, her voice strained. “How-how could you think-” She shakes her head. 

“We’d be  _ devastated. _ ” Courfeyrac says. “Absolutely devastated.”

“Don’t be. I’m going to die.” 

“You-” Joly starts.

“No, I’m going to die. Whether it’s today or five months from now, I’m going to die, so what’s the fucking difference?” They shake their head. “I’m going to die, and you’re just making it harder-” They can’t complete the sentence. “I should’ve just gone through with it in the first place, instead of being a fucking coward.” They wrench their hand from Montparnasse’s, and start towards their bedroom.

“They shouldn’t be alone.” Montparnasse says. “I’ll, uh...” There are some nods, some murmurs of agreement, and Montparnasse takes it as his cue to follow them.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This,,,took me far too long,,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for talk of death and dying? nothing much else, really. Just a lot of talking in this chapter

“Sous? You dead?” 

“Ugh.” Claquesous mutters, flipping Gueulemer off. 

“Well, you look like death.”

“Feel like it too. Fuck off.”

“What the hell even happened?”

“Montparnasse started another fight. I had to step in to make sure he didn’t kill the poor bastard.”

“Jesus. Course he did.” Gueulemer sits down with a sigh. “Faun’s on my ass again.”

“What’d you do this time?”

“Oh, Babet told them that I’d asked to go out on a job, and they gave me hell for it.” 

Claquesous shrugs. 

“Whatever. Turn on the TV.”

  
  


“Can we just...forget about this?” Jehan asks, very pointedly not looking at Montparnasse.

“You were going to kill yourself, Jehan. I think that merits an explanation.”

“I’m so tired.” Jehan sighs. “I just want to sleep.”

“Jehan...if you die, you’ll miss Courfeyrac’s wedding. You’ll miss whenever Enjolras and Grantaire finally get over themselves. You’ll miss birthdays, holidays-”

“Don’t you get it?” Jehan asks despairingly. “I’m going to miss those things anyway! I’m going to  _ die! _ I’m going to lose my sight, my motor function, my memory. And it’s going to happen soon. I don’t know when.”

“There are medicines-”

“Those can only help so much when your brain is being eaten by cancer.”

“For  _ fucks sake! _ ” Montparnasse yells, startling them both. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay?”

“Oh, okay, you don’t want me to! Hang on, let me just tell that to my  _ fucking cancer! _ ”

“Christ, Jehan, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Just get out.” They mutter. He rolls his eyes, and leaves with a dramatic huff.

Jehan throws the glass on their nightstand at the closed door, watching it shatter into a million pieces. It feels so good to do something, anything, that they pick up the plate on the side of their bed and throw that as well. Their snowglobe (what use do they have for it now?) Their breath is coming fast, too fast, and they can’t tell whether they’re screaming or swearing or crying-or all three. There’s glass littering the floor.

The snowglobe is still playing whatever fucking tune it came with. Jehan stomps down hard on it, determined to make it  _ shut up. _ It’s so stupid, so fucking stupid, and now they’ve destroyed their room for nothing.

A hysterical laugh is building in the back of their throat, looking at the mess they’ve made. 

  
  


Nobody tries to stop Montparnasse when he storms out the door. Sometimes, it’s easier to let Montparnasse be dramatic than to force him to talk rationally. And besides...Montparnasse isn’t exactly who any of them want to see.

It’s then the crashing starts, sounding from Jehan’s room. It sounds like glass shattering against the wall. 

“Should we do something?” Eponine asks.

“I think they should let it out of their system...?” Grantaire replies, hesitantly. 

“Oh, but that sounds like broken glass, they could get cut.” Joly frets. They all hear the laughter start, a breathless, out of control sounding thing. It’s not Jehan’s laughter. It’s bitter, and pained sounding, and there’s a sob building just behind it.

“I’m going in.” Cosette says, standing. 

“What are you even going to say?” Eponine sounds tired, frustrated.

“I don’t know.” Cosette admits. “What’s even left to say?”

  
  


**_This is bullshit._** Jehan writes. **_This is such bullshit._**

**_My therapist says writing out my thoughts will help. So does Cosette (and she’s in school to become a therapist so I suppose she would know.)_ **

**_Here goes~_ **

**_I’m terrified. I’m going to die, soon, and I’m not ready. I wanted to open a flower shop,  I wanted to get married, I wanted to go adventuring. I wanted to see iceland and australia and I wanted to explore a desert. I wanted to learn to cook. I wanted to ride a horse. I wanted to go see a broadway show. I wanted to go on a cruise._ **

**_There are so any things that I will never get the chance to do. And I guess I’m grateful for the life I’ve had, really, but it’s so fucking unfair that it’s being cut so short._ **

**_I love being alive. I love smelling the flowers, and walking barefoot on grass. I love being the first one awake in the early morning, when the dew is still wet. I love sitting on my roof and watching the stars. I love sunset and sunrise and dancing in the waves at the beach. I love writing. I love my friends so much. I love singing and playing the piano and I love counting the freckles on Feuilly’s face and I love tugging on Cosette’s curls and I love helping Eponine dye her hair. I love it when Courf tells me that he got a part at his latest audition, and I love when Combeferre gives me a random moth fact out of the blue. I love that Grantaire always complains when I ask him to wear his glasses. I love that Bahorel can bench press me without breaking a sweat._ **

**_I love breathing. I love being here. I love knowing that I’m alive._ **

**_And soon I won’t be._ **

**_I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to change something, I wanted to be the kind of person who starts some famous charity or nonprofit organization. I wanted people to hear my name and think ‘they did good for others’ not ‘they wasted away in a hospital bed’._ **

**_God this fucking sucks._ **

**_I guess Cosette was right, though, I do feel a little better._ **

With a sigh, Jehan sets the worn notebook back on their dresser. The roses in their vase are wilting, the petals dry and threatening to turn to dust at the slightest touch.

They throw the flowers out the window without looking back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the closest I'll ever come to writing smut. And my face was bright red the entire time ngl


End file.
